Anna 
Morgan 


a  I  B  R.AR.Y 

OF  THE 

U  N  I  VLR.S  ITY 
OF    ILLINOIS 


Anna  Morgan. 


My  Chicago 

by 

Anna 
Morgan 


"Where  are  they  gone,  and  do  you  know 
If  they  come  back  at  fall  o'  de<w. 
The  little  Ghosts  of  long  ago, 
That  long  ago  "were  you? 

And  all  the  songs  that  ne'er  were  lung 
And  all  the  dreams  that  ne'er  come  true 
Like  little  children  dying  young — 
Do  they  come  back  to  you?" 


Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour 

Publisher,  Chicago 


Copyrighted  1918 

By 
Anna  Morgan 


Other  books  by  Anna  Morgan 

AN  HOUR  WITH  DELSARTE 

THE  ART  OF  EXPRESSION 

SELECTED  READINGS 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Anna  Morgan Frontispiece 

Mrs.  Scott  Siddons Opposite  page  28 

Anna  Morgan  as  she  appeared  with  Scott  Siddons  in  1881  32 
Reproduction  of  the  portrait  of  Anna  Morgan  by  Harriet 

Blackstone  . .  52 

Bernard  Shaw  reading  to  Anna  Morgan  from  the  manuscript 

of  Captain  Brassbound's  Conversion 74 

Charles  L.  Hutchinson 116 

Mrs.  Harry  Gordon  Self  ridge 122 

Mrs.  Mary  H.  Wilmarth 140 

Franklin  H.  Head 142 

Mrs.  Chatfield-Taylor 143 

Mrs.  Potter  Palmer  . 144 

Marian  Morgan  Carr 146 

Ida  Morgan  Palmer 147 

John  T.  McCutcheon 148 

Mrs.  Jacob  Baur 154 

Jessie  Harding 155 


I  I 27d69 


Foreword 


N  THE  midst  of  Chicago's  turmoil,  there 
has  been  for  a  number  of  years  a  colony 
of  painters,  writers,  and  lovers  of  the 
Fine  Arts  which  has  been  striving  with 
might  and  main  to  create  within  our  material  city  a 
spirit  of  idealism.    A  scant  corporal's  guard  at  first, 
these  pioneers  of  the  finer  things  of  life  have  slowly 
grown  in  number,  until  they  form  a  goodly  sized  regi- 
ment exerting  a  noble  influence  upon  Chicago's  soul. 
The  city's  uncouthness,  however,  has  been  a  thorn 
in  the  side  of  this  aesthetic  colony;  and,  living  aloof 
as  they  have  from  the  material  world  about  them, 
its  members  have  been  tempted,  I  fear,  to  brush  aside 
unfeelingly  the  achievements  of  her  captains  of  in- 
dustry,   while   magnifying   unduly   their   own    en- 
deavors.    But  if  the  artists  and  writers  of  Chicago 
have  one  of  the  common  failings  of  their  craft,  they 
are,  I  am  proud  to  say,  singularly  free  from  the  other; 
since  nowhere,  I  believe,  is  there  an  artistic  colony 
so  untainted  by  jealousy  as  is  that  of  Chicago.    In- 
deed, those  of  its  members   to  whom  success  has 
opened   her  glittering   doors,   have   ever   extended 
a  helping  hand  to  their  comrades  at  the  threshold. 
Never  has  the  green-eyed  monster  played  the  baleful 


My  Chicago 

role  in  their  midst  it  plays,  all  too  often,  in  the  artistic 
coteries  of  older  cities.  It  is  the  pioneer  spirit,  I 
believe,  which  has  united  our  artists  and  writers  in 
generous  friendship,  and  made  them  strive  as  one  for 
the  betterment  of  the  city  they  have  seen  grow  from 
an  upstart  village  to  a  world  metropolis,  before  their 
astonished  eyes. 

Many  a  member  of  this  sympathetic  colony  is 
introduced  to  the  reader  in  the  pages  of  Miss  Mor- 
gan's book;  while  the  story  of  its  growth  and  achieve- 
ments is  told  by  her  with  a  genuineness  and  a  sim- 
plicity which  are  truly  refreshing  in  a  day  when 
clap-trap  is  so  rife.  It  is  meet,  moreover,  that  she 
should  be  its  chronicler;  for  in  the  creation  of  Chi- 
cago's aestheticism  she  has  been  truly  a  pioneer. 

From  that  day,  long  years  ago,  when  a  stranger 
asked  at  her  door  for  "Miss  Anna  Morgan  the 
dramatic  reader,"  and  gave  her  a  first  engagement 
for  the  modest  honorarium  of  ten  dollars,  to  this  year 
when  "the  shadow  of  war  lowers  over  the  land"  she 
has  been  a  tireless  champion  of  dramatic  art,  and 
ever  true  to  its  ideals. 

Upon  the  little  stage  of  her  studio,  or  in  some 
theatre  of  the  city  at  a  special  matinee  given  by  her 
pupils,  we,  who  are  of  her  following,  have  made  first 
acquaintance  with  the  plavs  of  such  modern  masters 
as  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck,  and  Bernard  Shaw.  Indeed, 
she  had  a  knack  of  scenting  the  greatness  of  such 
men  as  these,  when  even  their  names  were  unknown 
in  America;  and  I  am  constrained  to  confess  that  it 


Foreword 

was  she  who  introduced  me  to  Carlo  Goldoni,  the 
Venetian,  whose  biographer  many  years  later  I  be- 
came. 

While  the  plays  she  has  given  have  been  chosen 
with  rare  discrimination,  the  sincerity  with  which 
they  have  been  acted  has  been  quite  as  notable.  In- 
deed, I  confess  that  I  have  never  seen  a  performance 
by  her  pupils, — even  that  of  Hamlet  with  only  girls 
in  the  cast, — in  which  the  note  of  earnestness  was 
lacking.  Although  the  histrionism  of  some  of  the 
players  has  been  crude  at  times,  I  have  never  left 
her  theatre  without  feeling  that  the  play  had  been 
honestly  given,  and  that  she  had  succeeded  in  in- 
spiring her  pupils  with  true  reverence  for  her  art. 

Although  others  have  given  notable  plays  in  Chi- 
cago from  time  to  time  with  an  equal  defiance  of  the 
box-office,  it  is  well  to  recall  to  our  civic  mind  the 
fact  that  the  trail  which  our  dramatic  ideals  have 
followed,  albeit  with  faltering  steps,  was  blazed  by 
Anna  Morgan.  Throughout  the  years  she  tells  of 
in  her  book,  her  courage  has  never  faltered ;  nor  has 
her  loyalty  to  her  art  been  dimmed  by  the  many 
discouragements  she  has  met.  Her  Chicago,  more- 
over, is  the  Chicago  of  that  zealous  colony  of  artists 
and  writers  of  which  I  have  spoken.  By  its  mem- 
bers, one  and  all,  she  is  loved  for  her  endearing  qual- 
ities, and  admired  for  her  many  achievements. 

H.  C.  CHATFIELD-TAYLOR. 


Preface 


This  book  was  written  when  the  shadow  of  war  was 
lowering  over  this  country  deepening  as  the  months 
went  by  that  followed  the  first  year  of  our  entry.  They 
are  growing  still  darker  and  spreading  toward  what 
depths,  we  do  not  know;  creeping  round  every  home  in 
the  land,  peering  through  every  window  like  a  sinister 
stranger. 

My  story  deals  with  happier  times,  and  throngs  with 
faces  once  familiar,  always  beloved. 

What  we  shall  find  when  we  emerge  into  the  light  once 
more,  we  cannot  guess;  but  we  have  hope  that  the  old 
days  now  obscuring  will  be  compensated  by  better  days, 
for  the  world  could  not  pass  through  a  Gethsemane  so 
poignant  without  a  wonderful  refining  in  which  much 
dross  and  many  errors  must  be  cast  out.  A  new  state  of 
being,  social,  ethical,  political  and  spiritual,  is  coming 
toward  us. 

That  we  shall  remember  tranquil  times,  filled  with 
the  ardor  and  the  glow  of  old  ambitions,  old  achieve- 
ments, is  sweet  and  proper.  That  we  shall  look  forward 
to  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  confidently,  is  natural. 
But  between  the  two  states  we  find  ourselves  confronted 
by  one  great,  plain  duty,  the  duty  of  Work.  Work  for 
the  one  end  now  worth  striving  after — the  liberation  of 
all  the  races  of  men  that  dwell  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth;  and  no  one  must  neglect  or  evade  any  jot  or  tittle 
of  the  labor  that  comes  to  our  hands  asking  to  be  done. 

The  women  of  Chicago  like  those  of  other  cities 
have  risen  to  a  realization  of  this  one  duty.  The  men  of 


Preface 

military  age  have  gone  and  are  going  into  battle.  The 
women  are  doing  what  they  can  for  these  men.  All 
those  I  know  are  laying  aside  other  things  for  this.  To 
name  them  would  not  only  be  to  reprint  the  social  register, 
but  also  to  print  the  names  of  hundreds  of  noble  women 
in  the  humbler  walks  of  life.  How  much  they  have  done, 
how  much  they  will  find  to  do  is  a  matter  of  public  knowl- 
edge, and  therefore  needs  no  particularization  here. 

I  send  this  book  out  at  this  time  as  a  possible  one 
among  the  many  things  that  will  be  useful,  I  may 
say  needful  in  the  hours  of  rest.  I  send  it  now  because 
I  realize  the  period  of  my  professional  work  must  soon 
draw  near;  and  because  my  share  in  the  war  work  calls 
me  and  is  not  to  be  denied. 

My  wish  has  been  to  share  with  you  who  read,  the 
pleasure  and  profit  which  were  mine  in  knowing  those  who 
nave  here  been  brought  before  you;  if  you  have  enjoyed 
this  experience  it  will  therefore  prove  to  be  my  greatest 
reward. 


NNA,  why  don't  you  take  up  public  read- 
ing? I  think  you'd  make  a  great  success 
of  it." 

The  words  came  gaily,  lightly,  from  a 
young  friend  of  mine  who  at  that  par- 
ticular moment  was  engaged  in  painting  a  bunch  of  pop- 
pies on  a  china  jar.  There  was  a  pause  of  some  minutes. 
Then  I  inquired  from  the  couch  where  I  was  lying, 

"How  would  you  go  about  it?" 

"I  would  go  to  the  Hershey  Music  School  and  enter 
the  classes  of  Professor  Walter  C.  Lyman." 

I  had  never  heard  of  the  Hershey  Music  School  nor  of 
Professor  Lyman,  nor  had  I  ever  heard  anyone  read  for 
entertainment  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Scott  Siddons, 
although  at  that  time  dramatic  reading  and  the  recital  of 
dialect  and  humorous  selections  was  already  popular,  with 
several  successful  artists  in  the  field. 

Why  the  idle  remark  of  my  friend  should  have  made  a 
sufficiently  deep  impression  upon  my  mind  to  cause  me 
to  act  upon  her  suggestion,  is  a  psychological  question  I 
am  not  prepared  to  answer.  I  only  recall  that  nothing 
further  was  said  upon  the  subject,  but  that  nine  o'clock 
the  next  morning  round  me  in  the  office  of  the  Hershey 
School. 

I  was  met  by  Mrs.  Hershey,  who  informed  me  that 
Professor  Lyman's  connection  with  the  school  had  been 

II 


12  My  Chicago 

severed  and  that  a  young  man  from  Elgin,  Mr.  Samuel 
Kayzer,  had  been  engaged  to  take  his  place  and  was  to 
give  his  first  class  lesson  at  ten  o'clock,  and  added  that  she 
would  be  happy  to  have  me  stay  and  hear  the  lesson. 
I  did. 

Mr.  Kayzer  had  been  in  America  but  a  short  time.  He 
came  from  Warsaw,  where  as  a  child  he  had  been  a 
devotee  at  the  shrine  of  Madame  Modjeska.  He  had 
been  earning  his  living  as  adjuster  in  a  watch  factory  in 
Elgin  where,  being  an  appreciative  and  talented  student 
of  dramatic  literature,  he  had  found  his  way  to  the  classes 
which  Professor  Lyman  was  then  conducting  there  and 
had  won  so  much  approbation  for  his  interpretative  read- 
ings that  Professor  Lyman  had  cordially  recommended 
him  to  fill  his  place  in  the  Hershey  School.  He  gave 
up  his  position  in  the  watch  factory  and  entered  upon  his 
career  as  instructor  in  1877. 

Of  course  my  first  class  lesson  was  all  Greek  to  me; 
but  for  the  same  unknown  reason  which  brought  me  to 
the  school  I  engaged  a  term  of  lessons,  and  took  a  private 
lesson  before  leaving.  The  lesson  consisted  of  repeating 
after  my  teacher,  line  by  line,  a  poem,  then  popular,  by 
J.  F.  Waller,  called  "Magdelena,  or  The  Spanish  Duel," 
the  first  verse  of  which  is: 

"Near  the  city  of  Sevilla,  years  and  years  ago, 
Dwelt  a  lady  in  a  villa,  years  and  years  ago. 
And  her  hair  was  black  as  night 
And  her  eyes  were  starry  bright. 
Olives  on  her  brow  were  blooming, 
Roses  red  her  lips  perfuming, 
And  her  step  was  light  and  airy 
As  the  tripping  of  a  fairy; 
When  she  spoke,  you  thought,  each  minute, 
'Twas  the  thrilling  of  a  linnet; 


My  Chicago  13 

When  she  sang  you  heard  a  gush 
Of  full-voiced  sweetness  like  a  thrush. 

Ah  1  that  lady  of  the  villa ! 
And  I  loved  her  so, 
Near  the  city  of  Sevilla, 
Years  and  years  ago." 

The  poem  was  long,  filled  with  unpronounceable  names, 
but  effective  when  recited  by  men  reciters  of  that  day. 
I  went  through  it,  as  I  said,  parrot  fashion,  and  hastened 
home  to  report  the  result  or  my  visit  to  my  mother,  and 
to  learn  the  poem. 

We  were  living  at  447  West  Washington  street,  which 
at  that  time  was  the  most  desirable  residential  district 
in  Chicago.  In  our  block  lived  Bishop  Whitehouse  and 
his  family,  the  Albert  Spragues,  Tuthill  Kings,  Philo 
Carpenters,  J.  J.  Glessners,  T.  M.  Averys,  R.  T.  Cranes. 
A  little  farther  east  were  the  Benjamin  H.  Campbells. 
After  Abraham  Lincoln's  death,  Mrs.  Lincoln  and  her 
children  sojourned  for  a  time  at  number  375.  Not  far 
from  them  lived  Bishop  Fallows  and  near  by  was  the 
home  where  Hobart  C.  Chatfield-Taylor  was  born  and 
passed  his  childhood.  On  the  corner  of  Ada  Steet  lived 
Dr.  Joseph  P.  Ross  who  with  Dr.  DeLaskie  Miller  and 
Dr.  Ephraim  Ingalls  (both  of  whom  lived  in  the  neighbor- 
hood), were  the  three  great  physicians  in  Chicago  at  that 
time.  Dr.  Miller  was  the  father  of  Mrs.  Charles  C. 
Curtiss.  In  the  next  block  west  lived  the  Andrew  Mc- 
Leishes  and  the  C.  K.  G.  Billings.  Two  blocks  south  on 
Monroe  Street  were  the  Allan  Pinkertons,  Thomas 
Chalmers,  and  the  Francis  A.  Riddles.  Around  the  cor- 
ner on  Ashland  Avenue  were  the  John  A.  Hamlins, 
E.  Nelson  Blakes,  Henry  Wallers,  J.  Harley  Bradleys, 
J.  Russell  Jones,  Carter  H.  Harrisons  and  a  few  years 
later,  the  William  J.  Chalmers  and  Heaton  Owsleys. 


14  My  Chicago 

My  father,  Allen  Denison  Morgan,  had  died  at 
Auburn,  New  York,  where  we  lived  during  the  panic  of 
1871,  and  left  my  mother  (who  before  her  marriage  was 
Mary  Jane  Thornton),  with  five  children — my  two 
brothers,  Seward  and  Charles,  both  of  whom  died  in 
1890,  two  sisters,  Ida  and  Marian;  and  myself.  My 
mother  upon  the  advice  of  friends  had  moved  with  her 
children  to  Chicago  in  1876. 

China  painting  was  then  the  rage,  and  my  sisters  were 
proficient  artists.  My  sister  Marian  taught  in  one  of  the 
schools  in  St.  Louis  in  1877.  Later  she  had  classes  in 
Chicago,  one  of  them  being  at  the  home  of  Mrs.  John 
M.  Clark,  2000  Prairie  Avenue.  My  part  was  to  or- 
ganize the  classes.  Mrs.  Clark  was  a  bride  at  that  time, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  how  fascinated  I  was  by  her 
beauty,  and  charm  of  manner. 

I  had  grown  tired  of  "promoting"  and  was  eager  to 
enter  upon  a  career  of  my  own,  which  in  a  measure 
accounts  for  the  readiness  with  which  I  acted  upon  my 
friend's  advice  to  become  a  "reader"  as  she  called  it. 
I  had  had  no  preparation  for  a  public  career,  had  lived 
very  quietly  in  Auburn  and  the  country  about  it,  had  at- 
tended few  lectures,  concerts  or  plays;  in  fact,  I  think 
I  had  only  attended  two  plays — "Fanchon  the  Cricket" 
and  "Jane  Eyre" — but  from  the  departure  from  my  home 
and  the  taking  of  my  first  lesson  I  seemed  to  have  been 
imbued  with  the  determination  to  succeed,  not  so  much 
to  win  renown  as  to  become  independent  financially  and 
to  be  able  to  help  others  who  might  need  my  help.  So  I 
worked  with  unflagging  interest  and  a  steady  determina- 
tion, which  was  never  deterred  by  the  innumerable  ob- 
stacles which  everyone  who  sets  out  on  an  artistic  career 
is  bound  to  encounter. 

Being  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  of  the  history 
of  great  artists,  of  their  beginnings,  struggles  and  achieve- 
ments, I  was  unable  to  estimate  what  it  meant  to  attain 


My  Chicago  15 

to  a  masterful  position  in  art;  so  I  rushed  in,  dared  to 
do  what  I  should  now  hesitate  to  undertake,  and  thus 
arrived  shortly  where  I  could  command  opportunities 
and  demand  a  good  price  for  my  services. 

Like  all  schools  of  Music  and  Dramatic  Art,  the 
Hershey  School,  which  had  been  founded  in  1873  by 
Sarah  Hershey,  a  successful  teacher  of  singing,  frequently 
gave  recitals,  to  present  the  members  of  the  faculty  and 
such  students  as  had  proven  their  ability  to  appear  be- 
comingly with  them. 

My  first  ambition  was  to  be  on  one  of  those  programs. 
The  opportunity  came  in  due  time  in  the  receipt  of  the 
following  letter : 

Hershey  Music  Hall,  Chicago,  Feb.  6,  1880. 
My  dear  Miss  Morgan : — Would  you  like  to  assist 
us  at  our  next  Popular  Concert  on  Tuesday  or  Wed- 
nesday evening  of  next  week?  If  so,  I  would  be 
glad  to  give  you  one,  two,  or  three  places  on  the 
program,  which  will  be  an  excellent  one,  and  the 
audience  will  undoubtedly  be  large.  If  you  can 
accommodate  us,  please  send  the  titles  of  your  selec- 
tions by  bearer. 

Yours  in  haste, 

H.  CLARENCE  EDDY. 

I  put  down,  among  other  things  to  recite,  a  little  Scotch 
dialect  selection  called  "Charlie  Machree."  Charlie's 
sweetheart  was  on  one  side  of  the  river,  he  on  the  other. 
She  calls  out  to  him  to  come  over  to  her.  The  poem 
relates  the  perils  of  his  undertaking,  and  the  words 
"he's  sinking,  he's  sinking,  oh,  what  shall  I  do?"  are 
repeated  several  times.  I  remember  my  mental  state 
as  the  time  for  my  appearance  on  the  platform  arrived. 
I  determined  to  seem  very  much  at  home  and  do  various 
"things"  which  I  had  seen  professional  artists  do  when 


16  My  Chicago 

they  stood  before  an  audience.  One  or  two  of  them  was 
to  move  a  table  slightly,  or  a  chair  or  both;  turn  over 
the  leaves  of  a  book  (which  need  not  necessarily  contain 
the  selection  to  be  recited),  touch  the  lips  lightly  with 
a  handkerchief,  then  place  it  on  the  table,  adjust  the 
"train,"  clear  the  throat,  then  with  a  patronizing  smile 
and  a  "real  bow"  announce  in  a  sententious  tone  the 
title  of  the  thing  to  be  recited.  I  believe  I  carried  out 
these  details  to  the  letter,  and  started  off  fairly  well ;  but 
alas  and  alack!  I  began  to  be  overtaken  by  stage  fright 
— a  usual  part  of  first  appearances,  and  when  Charlie  was 
in  the  middle  of  the  stream  I  forgot  my  lines.  I  kept  on 
repeating  "He's  sinking,  he's  sinking,  oh,  what  shall  I 
do?"  The  audience  became  a  black  and  seething  mass. 
I  wrung  my  hands  and  wildly  kept  on  crying  "He's  sink- 
ing, he's  sinking,  oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 

Finally  the  concluding  lines  came  to  me  and  I  landed 
Charlie  safely  in  the  arms  of  his  sweetheart,  and  so 
concluded  one  of  the  greatest  pieces  of  realistic  reciting 
I  ever  remember  being  engaged  in.  I  recall  that  when  I 
reached  the  green  room  Mr.  Eddy  remarked, 

"Poor  Charlie !  We  thought  at  one  time  he  was  going 
to  the  bottom,  but  thank  Heaven  you  landed  him  safe 
and  sound." 

The  faculty  of  the  Hershey  School  at  this  time  com- 
prised H.  Clarence  Eddy,  Frederick  Grant-Gleason, 
Frank  T.  Baird,  Clayton  F.  Summy,  W.  S.  B.  Matthews, 
Samuel  Kayzer,  Prof,  von  Klenze  and  his  wife  Clara  von 
Klenze,  and  Mrs.  Hershey.  Among  the  advanced  music 
students  were  Grace  Hiltz,  Mina,  Pauline,  and  Annie 
Rommeis,  and  Agnes  Cox.  Grace  Hiltz  afterward  mar- 
ried Mr.  Gleason;  Mina  Rommeis  became  the  wife  of 
Mr.  Summy;  and  finally  Mrs.  Hershey  became  Mrs. 
Clarence  Eddy. 

The  one  member  of  the  faculty  of  the  Hershey  School 
whose  memory  stands  out  by  reason  of  his  written  work 


My  Chicago  17 

was  W.  S.  B.  Matthews,  a  man  of  unusually  broad  and 
varied  mental  equipment.  His  text  books  on  music  have 
become  standard  the  whole  world  round.  He  was  less  a 
musician  in  the  ordinary  sense  than  he  was  a  master  in 
the  knowledge  of  the  theory  and  art  of  music.  He  was 
the  only  one  of  the  few  great  scholars  in  music  with  whom 
my  work  has  brought  me  into  contact,  who  was  totally 
without  bias  in  his  attitude  toward  all  the  departments 
of  the  art,  to  all  of  the  socalled  schools  of  music,  and  to 
the  performances  of  professional  musicians. 

It  is  highly  unusual  to  find  creative  or^  synthetic  powers 
residing  peacefully  in  any  one  mind  side  by  side  with 
the  power  of  analysis.  Mr.  Matthews  had  both,  and 
their  possession  and  coordinate  action  made  him  a  truly 
great  critic.  As  illustrative  of  this  I  remember  a  curious 
embarrassment  that  overtook  Will  Eaton,  while  Will  was 
music  critic  on  the  Chicago  Times.  Will  Eaton  used  to 
say  of  himself  that  all  he  knew  about  music  of  any  kind 
was  whether  or  not  he  liked  it;  and  that  all  he  could 
write  about  it  was  why  he  liked  or  disliked.  He  was 
honest  enough  to  feel  that  his  public  was  in  all  fairness 
entitled  to  a  judgment  that  would  stand;  so  when  he  was 
confronted  by  performances  that  required  high  technical 
knowledge,  he  called  in  Matthews  to  go  hear  the  thing 
and  write  the  criticism.  A  succession  of  such  criticism, 
highly  informed  and  expressed  in  phrases  that  anybody 
could  understand,  brought  recognition  and  respect  from 
all  the  great  lights  in  music  in  this  country  and  Great 
Britain.  They  were  quoted,  sometimes  reproduced  in 
full,  in  publications  devoted  to  music.  Hence  the  em- 
barrassment of  Eaton.  He  found  himself  with  a  reputa- 
tion he  had  not  earned,  and  it  took  him  a  long  time  to  get 
that  credit  transferred  to  Matthews.  Neither  one  of  the 
two  had  been  aware  that  their  style  of  writing  was  the 
same. 

Mr.  Matthews  had  a  curious  sense  of  humor.    But  he 


i8  My  Chicago 

had  a  defect  of  oral  delivery  which  made  him  unintel- 
ligible to  most  people,  a  fact  of  which  he  himself  was 
totally  unaware,  and  which  was  productive  at  times  of 
strange  results.  He  had  a  story  that  must  have  been  up- 
roariously funny,  because  he  could  not  tell  it  without  going 
into  paroxysms  of  laughter.  No  one  ever  found  out  any 
more  about  it  than  that  it  was  concerned  with  two  dogs. 
Several  of  his  newspaper  friends,  aching  to  get  at  it,  tried 
to  induce  him  to  put  it  in  writing.  The  request  invariably 
stirred  him  to  indignation.  He  regarded  it  as  an  attempt 
to  make  public  property  of  the  funniest  story  that  was  ever 
told.  He  is  dead  now ;  and  the  story  died  with  him. 

While  I  was  at  the  Hershey  School  and  he  was  one  of 
the  instructors  he  made  a  point  once  every  week  of  lectur- 
ing to  his  class — with  the  assistance  of  a  blackboard. 
These  lectures  usually  occupied  an  hour,  and  the  class 
would  go  away  without  understanding  a  solitary  word 
that  he  had  uttered. 

In  a  short  time  I  rose  to  the  distinction  of  giving  sev- 
eral numbers  in  an  evening  recital  with  Mr.  Kayzer,  I 
having  the  first  half  of  the  program,  he  the  last.  This 
opportunity  was  considered  a  great  honor.  I  wish  I  might 
put  down  the  numbers  on  the  program,  but  I  cannot  recall 
a  single  one.  The  Tribune  of  August  loth,  1879,  con- 
tained the  following  announcement. 

"Professor  Kayzer  will  give  the  third  of  his  series  of 
readings  at  Hershey  Music  Hall  on  Thursday  evening, 
August  1 2th.  The  program  will  consist  of  a  choice  se- 
lection of  miscellaneous  pieces  in  which  Miss  Anna 
Morgan,  a  young  lady  who  is  said  to  possess  excellent 
dramatic  powers,  will  take  part." 

My  next  appearance  was  at  Austin,  Illinois,  where  I 
received  my  first  five  dollars.  The  town  was  deluged 
with  posters  announcing  that  Miss  Anna  Morgan, 
Chicago's  Favorite  Reader,  would  appear  in  the  town  hall 


My  Chicago  19 

on  Tuesday  evening  November  i6th.  Admission  twenty- 
five  cents. 

I  now  considered  myself  a  professional.  Soon  after 
that  on  a  never-to-be-forgotten  evening  about  seven 
o'clock  the  doorbell  rang,  and  I  opened  the  door.  A  very 
dignified  man  said: 

"I  am  looking  for  Miss  Anna  Morgan,  the  dramatic 
reader." 

I  was  greatly  annoyed  to  have  been  deprived  of  the 
privilege  then  in  vogue,  and  thought  an  essential  point  in 
business,  of  keeping  him  waiting  and  then  sailing  into  the 
"parlor"  with  an  air  of  great  importance,  calculated  to 
impress  the  caller.  In  this  case  I  had  to  admit  that  I  was 
Anna  Morgan,  and  ask  him  to  be  seated.  He  told  me 
he  had  been  sent  by  the  Bryant  Literary  Society  to  engage 
me  to  read  on  a  program  to  be  given  the  following  week. 
He  said  he  wanted  two  numbers  and  would  send  a  carriage 
and  pay  me  ten  dollars.  I  remember  I  straightened  up, 
assumed  much  dignity,  knit  my  brows  and  tried  to  figure 
out  whether  my  engagements  would  permit  my  accepting 
this  date.  I  finally  said  I  could,  and  the  man  left  with 
what  seemed  to  me  much  satisfaction  at  having  secured 
my  services.  I  don't  remember  who  composed  the  Bryant 
Literary  Society,  nor  where  it  was  situated,  nor  whether 
I  ever  had  been  on  the  north  side  before.  I  remember 
I  recited  "The  Maiden  Martyr"  and  "Asleep  at  the 
Switch,"  and  some  humorous  encores,  and  regarded  it  as 
the  most  important  event  in  my  life  up  to  then. 

About  this  time  occurred  a  most  amusing  incident. 
My  mind  had  begun  to  expand  beyond  the  limits  of  Chi- 
cago, and  as  Mr.  Kayzer  had  lived  in  Elgin  I  thought  it 
would  add  to  our  fame  and  fortune  to  give  an  entertain- 
ment there.  Accordingly  my  brother  Seward  made  a  trip 
to  Elgin  as  advance  agent  and  engaged  Mendelssohn  Hall 
for  Thursday  evening  November  I4th,  1878.  It  was 
the  custom  to  intersperse  readings  with  musical  numbers 


2O  My  Chicago 

at  that  time,  so  we  engaged  the  Chicago  Ladies  Quartette, 
which  consisted  of  Grace  Hiltz,  Agnes  Cox,  Mina  and 
Pauline  Rommeis.  My  brother,  who  by  the  way  had  never 
had  the  slightest  experience  in  promoting  an  entertain- 
ment, had  some  bills  struck  off  and  distributed  about  the 
town,  confident  that  they  would  produce  a  crowded  house. 

The  day  came  and  we  all  went  down,  my  brother 
Charlie  going  along  to  take  the  tickets  and  the  money. 
Alas!  as  between  the  performers  and  the  audience,  the 
latter  was  in  the  minority;  and  we  returned  to  Chicago 
having  paid  dearly  for  the  privilege  of  appearing  in  Elgin. 

Sometime  in  1879,  Henry  L.  Slayton,  a  manager  of 
local  entertainments,  got  up  a  Readers'  Tournament, 
which  was  given  in  McCormick  hall,  situated  on  North 
Clark  Street  just  over  the  bridge.  I  remember  George 
Vandenhoff,  Sr.,  one  of  New  York's  famous  readers,  was 
on  the  program,  also  James  E.  Murdock,  a  reader  and 
teacher  much  respected  and  admired,  one  of  America's 
numerous  Hamlets,  and  who  was  asked  to  read  "The 
Lord's  Prayer."  I  remember  he  said  he  could  not  do  this 
in  cold  blood,  but  consented  to  read  a  selection  in  which 
it  was  suitably  introduced. 

There  now  seemed  to  be  a  "growing  something"  in  the 
air  about  "Anna  Morgan's  recitals,"  and  one  day  Mrs.  E. 
Nelson  Blake,  mother  of  Mrs.  H.  H.  Kohlsaat  called  at 
my  home  to  engage  me  to  read  in  the  Second  Baptist 
church,  which  was  then  in  Sangamon  street  on  the  west 
side,  and  of  which  she  and  her  husband  were  leading  mem- 
bers. She  said  she  would  pay  me  twenty-five  dollars, 
which  she  did,  making  me  feel  as  though  I  belonged  to 
the  Rothschild  family.  I  do  not  remember  what  I  read, 
nor  what  I  wore,  which  was  an  all  important  thing — more 
so  then  than  now;  but  I  do  remember  that  immediately 
after  Mr.  Franc  B.  Wilkie,  then  one  of  the  editors  of 
The  Times,  engaged  me  to  read  on  the  west  side  in  a 
Baptist  Church  on  Park  avenue,  and  that  I  wore  a  black 


My  Chicago  21 

velvet  gown  the  train  of  which  was  so  long  th'at  it  could 
not  be  accommodated  on  the  high  pulpit  platform,  but 
swept  off  on  the  floor.  This  I  felt  must  look  very  grand 
as  I  sat  with  the  utmost  dignity  in  one  of  the  high  backed 
pulpit  chairs  and  recited  Mrs.  Browning's  "Mother  and 
Poet"  and  other  funereal  numbers. 

I  remember  driving  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilkie  after 
the  program  to  Thompson's  restaurant  in  Madison  street 
for  an  oyster  stew,  which  was  the  gay  thing  to  do  at  that 
time.  Mr.  Wilkie  remarked  that  my  program  had  re- 
counted as  many  deaths  as  were  recorded  in  the  play  of 
Hamlet.  I  also  remember  that  there  appeared  in  The 
Times  the  next  morning  the  first  professional  criticism  of 
my  work  which  I  had  received. 

After  this,  for  a  time,  I  never  went  outside  my  home 
without  imagining  that  everyone  was  saying  "There  she 
comes!"  or  "There  she  goes — that's  Anna  Morgan!"  A 
few  years  opened  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  world  has 
too  many  interests  to  concern  itself  with  the  advent  of  any 
new  aspirant  to  artistic  honors,  and  that  a  man  or  a  woman 
must  do  something  phenomenal  to  become  a  subject  of  uni- 
versal recognition  and  comment.  How  delightful,  then, 
is  the  blissful  ignorance  of  youth,  which  admits  of  a  few 
brief  hours  of  veritable  triumph  and  happiness  before  the 
hardships  and  real  struggle  of  a  professional  career  begin  ! 

On  April  1 2th,  1879,  posters  announced  a  Reading  and 
Musicale  in  the  Third  Presbyterian  church  at  Ashland  and 
Ogden  avenues.  The  announcement  stated: 

"A  Dramatic  and  Humorous  Recital  will  be  given  by 
the  highly  talented  and  favorite  reader  Anna  Morgan, 
her  last  appearance  in  Chicago  this  season,  in  combina- 
tion with  the  celebrated  Chickering  Quartette,  Charles 
A.  Knorr,  Charles  H.  Clark,  John  E.  McWade  and 
Charles  F.  Noble,  forming  one  of  the  most  attractive 
entertainments  ever  offered  to  the  West  Side  public. 
Tickets  twenty-five  cents." 


22  My  Chicago 

The  Chicago  Tribune  on  Sunday  December  25th,  1880, 
contained  a  half-page  advertisement  of  the  Star  Lecture 
Course  to  be  given  in  Central  Music  Hall  under  the 
management  of  Henry  L.  Slayton.  Holders  of  season 
tickets  were  asked  to  pay  twenty,  thirty,  forty  and  fifty 
cents  for  each  entertainment,  including  reserved  seats. 
The  course  opened  with  four  "stars" — Jessie  Couthoui, 
Reader;  Joseph  Heine,  the  great  blind  Violinist  (first 
appearance)  ;  and  The  Chickering  Quartette.  The  second 
date  was  October  2yth,  with  Clara  Louise  Kellogg 
and  her  Company,  Herr  Emil  Liebling,  Solo  Pianist. 
On  November  i6th  the  program  announced  A.  P.  Bur- 
bank,  the  renowned  dialect  reader.  Anna  Morgan  the  fa- 
vorite reader,  and  the  Chicago  Quartette. 

On  February  loth,  1880,  I  appeared  for  the  benefit  of 
the  Foundling's  Home  in  conjunction  with  the  Chicago 
Lady  Quartette;  reciting  "How  the  Old  Horse  Won  the 
Bet,"  and  "How  Ruby  Played."  On  September  2d  of 
that  year  I  appeared  in  Highland  Hall,  Highland  Park, 
in  an  entertainment  given  by  Mrs.  N.  E.  Swarthout,  read- 
ing "How  Ruby  Played."  Others  on  the  program  were 
Samuel  Kayzer,  who  recited  "The  Diver"  by  Schiller; 
Laura  Dainty,  who  recited  "Tom's  Little  Star,"  by 
Foster;  and  the  Harmonic  Quartette. 

Perhaps  it  is  time  for  me  to  mention  the  readers  best 
known  in  the  field  in  Chicago  at  this  period.  They  were 
Robert  L.  Cumnock,  founder  of  the  School  of  Oratory  in 
Northwestern  University;  Alfred  P.  Burbank,  a  successful 
reciter  of  dialect  selections;  Jessie  Couthoui,  Laura 
Dainty,  myself,  and  a  few  others  of  less  achievement. 
Miss  Couthoui  and  Mrs.  Dainty  were  popular  for  sev- 
eral years.  I  remember  Miss  Couthoui  chiefly  by  her 
masterful  recital  of  "Darius  Green  and  His  Flying  Ma- 
chine," written  by  Trowbridge  in  1868.  After  Daedalus 
and  Icarus,  Darius  is  usually  taken  as  the  first  man  who 
wanted  to  try  mechanical  flight.  Mr.  Trowbridge's  effort 


My  Chicago  23 

may  be  allowed  the  license  usually  granted  to  poetry,  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact  it  expressed  the  disbelief  of  his  own 
day.  It  hit  the  public  fancy  partly  on  that  account,  and 
partly  because  it  was  intrinsically  funny,  but  it  overlooked 
the  fact  that  man  in  all  ages  has  wanted  to  emulate  the 
bird,  has  yearned  to  conquer  the  one  element  that  seemed 
beyond  his  power  to  subdue.  Long  before  the  day  of 
Darius  Green,  Montgolfier  succeeded  in  levitating  him- 
self far  above  the  ground  by  means  of  a  balloon  filled 
with  heated  air — all  unaware  creating  in  himself  a  demon- 
stration of  an  illusory  value  now  commonly  deprecated  in 
a  slang  phrase.  Later  on  another  Frenchman,  whose 
name  I  have  forgotten,  did  succeed  by  means  of  artificial 
wings  attached  to  his  arms  and  legs,  in  flopping  through 
several  yards  of  air  between  the  roof  of  a  building  and  the 
turf  of  a  lawn,  where  he  landed  with  considerable  per- 
sonal injury  to  himself.  I  do  not  know  whether  Mr. 
Trowbridge  got  his  quaint  conceit  from  this  last  named 
performance,  but  about  forty  years  later  the  Wright 
brothers  justified  the  query  entertained  by  Darius  by  mak- 
ing their  first  long  glide  in  a  heavier  than  air  machine 
at  Kittyhawk,  North  Carolina ;  and  we  all  know  what  has 
happened  since.  Then  and  there  they  answered  the  sturdy 
question  of  Darius : 

"The  birds  can  fly 

And  why  can't  I  ? 

Must  we  give  in," 

Said  he  with  a  grin, 

"That  the  blue  bird  and  phoebe 

Are  smarter'n  we  be?" 

"Nur  I  can't  see 
What's  the  use  of  wings 
To  a  Bumble  bee 
Fur  to  get  a  livin'  with, 


24  My  Chicago 

More'n  to  me. 
Aint  my  business 
Importanter'n  hisen  is?" 

Miss  Couthoui  had  very  large  eyes  and  a  broad  mouth, 
and  when  she  impersonated  Reuben  as  he  watched  Darius 
about  to  launch  from  the  barn  door  in  the  loft,  she  had  a 
trick  of  first  contracting  her  mouth,  and  then  slowly 
opening  it  as  Reuben's  amazement  increased,  until  it  as- 
sumed such  unusual  proportions  that  it  brought  storms 
of  applause. 

Mrs.  Dainty  had  a  large  repertoire  of  humorous  selec- 
tions, among  which  were  "How  the  Old  Horse  Won  the 
Bet,"  "A  Naughty  Little  Girl's  Views  of  Life  in  a  Hotel," 
"Tom's  Little  Star."  "Money  Musk"  and  "The  Dead 
Doll."  Some  years  later  Mrs.  Dainty  became  Mrs.  Fred 
Pelham,  and  has  since  been  associated  with  Hull  House, 
where  she  has  efficiently  and  successfully  developed  and 
managed  the  Hull  House  Players,  whose  fame  is  more 
than  local. 

In  the  latter  part  of  November,  1879,  just  two  years 
from  the  time  I  had  resolved  to  succeed  as  a  reader,  I 
made  my  first  appearance  in  New  York  City.  Among  my 
testimonials  is  the  following: 

New  York,  December  3rd,  1879 
My  dear  Miss  Morgan: — I  want  to  thank  you 
for  the  excellent  entertainment  you  gave  us  last  even- 
ing in  the  parlor  of  the  Church  of  the  Messiah.  The 
gathering  was  one  you  might  well  be  proud  of,  both 
as  to  number  and  quality.  They  were  all  delighted 
with  your  wonderful  recitations,  as  I  was,  and  gave 
proof  of  their  feelings  in  swift  laughter  and  tears. 

ROBERT  COLLYER. 

Doctor  Collyer  at  that  time  was  one  of  the  few  emi- 
nent clergymen  in  the  United  States,  and  this  word  of 


My  Chicago  25 

commendation  from  him  proved  helpful  to  me.  I 
remember  it  brought  an  engagement  in  Boston  on  De- 
cember i  yth.  I  do  not  recall  the  auspices  under  which 
I  read,  but  I  have  an  excerpt  from  the  Boston  Journal 
of  December  i8th,  in  which  the  critic  stated  that  "Miss 
Morgan  read  with  marked  effect,  the  audience  giving 
decided  evidence  of  appreciation  of  her  ability  as  a  public 
reader." 

On  April  2Oth,  1880  I  gave  a  recital  in  the  Academy  of 
Music  in  Auburn,  N.  Y.  This  was  an  important  event 
to  me,  for  I  had  been  reared  there,  also  my  father  and 
mother  and  their  parents.  Nathan  Gallop  Morgan  and 
his  wife  Ann  Allen  (for  whom  I  was  named).  Stephen 
Thornton,  my  maternal  grandfather,  and  his  wife 
Charlotte  Purchais,  were  all  born  in  the  vicinity  of  Auburn 
and  lived  and  died  there.  Cayuga  County  was  often 
spoken  of  as  a  "hive  of  Morgans."  My  grandfather 
Morgan  and  my  father  Allen  D.  Morgan,  were  promi- 
nent as  members  of  the  state  legislature  and  were  inti- 
mate friends  of  William  H.  Seward,  our  most  illustrious 
fellow-townsman,  after  whom  one  of  my  brothers  was 
named.  Roscoe  Conklin  was  a  classmate  of  my  father 
at  Hamilton  College  at  the  same  time  my  mother  attended 
Miss  Kelly's  School  at  Utica,  famous  at  that  time. 

As  nearly  everyone  in  Auburn  and  vicinity  had  known 
my  parents,  and  me  as  a  child,  my  appearance  as  a  public 
performer  was  a  matter  of  general  interest.  I  was  greeted 
by  a  large  and  enthusiastic  audience.  The  Auburn  Adver- 
tiser the  next  day  gave  a  glowing  account  of  my  appear- 
ance, and  Herrick  Johnson,  D.D.,  who  was  in  the  audience 
and  later  was  identified  with  the  Fourth  Presbyterian 
Church  and  McCormick  Theological  Seminary  here  in 
Chicago,  gave  the  following  testimonial: 

"I  have  heard  Miss  Morgan  with  real  pleasure. 
She  does  not  rant  and  this  is  an  unspeakably  grati- 


26  My  Chicago 

fying  thing  to  say  in  view  of  so  much  that  is  heard 
in  public  readings.  Grace  and  naturalness  of 
manner,  a  voice  into  which  can  be  put  tenderness  and 
tears,  a  quick  appreciation  of  varying  shades  of 
thought  and  feeling,  and  a  judgment  that  prevents 
the  extravagance  of  extremes,  are  Miss  Morgan's 
marked  characteristics." 

During  April,  1882,  I  filled  a  number  of  engagements 
in  Kansas,  receiving  flattering  notices  from  Lawrence, 
Atchison,  Wichita  and  St.  Joe,  Missouri.  In  the  latter 
place  I  was  entertained  by  Constance  Runcie,  a  poetess 
of  considerable  local  fame.  My  engagement  to  read  there 
followed  soon  after  the  capture  of  Jesse  James,  an  out- 
law who  had  outwitted  the  officers  for  some  time,  and 
who  had  become  a  serious  menace  to  the  community  and 
to  the  state.  His  capture  had  caused  much  excitement 
throughout  the  country.  I  mention  this  because  of  what 
followed. 

My  next  engagement  was  at  Mound  City,  and  the  night 
after  that  I  was  to  read  in  Lincoln,  Nebraska.  In  order 
to  reach  there  in  time  I  was  obliged  to  drive  from  Mound 
City,  which  was  off  the  main  line  of  the  railroad,  and 
catch  a  train  on  the  main  line  at  2  a.  m.  I  engaged  a 
liveryman  to  take  me  over  after  my  reading  in  Mound 
City,  and  reached  the  station  about  10  o'clock.  It  was 
pitch  dark  save  for  a  dim  light  which  came  from  a  window 
in  the  station.  The  man  deposited  my  trunk  and  myself 
on  the  platform.  I  paid  him,  and  he  drove  off.  I  groped 
my  way  into  the  station  and  discovered  that  it  was 
empty  save  for  the  ticket  agent.  I  had  also  observed  that 
the  house  was  isolated,  no  other  building  being  in  sight, 
I  was  somewhat  frightened,  but  resolved  to  put  on  a  brave 
front,  although  I  realized  that  I  was  in  an  uncomfortable 
position. 

I  ventured  to  speak  to  the  ticket  agent,  who  informed 


My  Chicago 


27 


me  that  he  usually  stayed  to  meet  the  two  o'clock  train, 
but  that  that  night  he  had  to  leave  at  once  because  his 
wife  was  ill.  My  heart  sank  at  the  thought  of  being  left 
alone  at  such  an  hour  on  a  Kansas  prairie.  My  alarm  was 
increased  by  the  entrance  of  six  burly  men,  whom  I  im- 
mediately concluded  were  accomplices  of  Jesse  James  and 
part  of  his  gang.  My  trunk  on  the  platform  contained 
my  best  clothes,  a  valuable  set  of  diamonds,  and  three 
hundred  dollars ;  and  I  wore  a  new  sealskin  coat.  I  saw 
the  man  in  the  office  and  myself  gagged  and  tied  with  a 
rope — if  not  murdered — and  all  my  effects  appropriated 
by  the  desperadoes.  It  was  a  terrible  moment,  but  I  sat 
apparently  composed  in  a  chair  close  to  a  red  hot  stove 
with  my  eye  on  the  man  at  the  office  window  until  the  train 


came. 


The  agent,  be  it  said  to  his  credit,  did  not  leave  me,  but 
stayed  and  saw  me  safely  aboard  the  train  for  Lincoln. 
For  years  I  could  not  get  over  thinking  of  what  might 
have  happened,  and  how  perilous  it  was  for  a  young 
woman  to  go  out  on  a  lecture  tour  alone,  although  in  this 
instance  a  companion  would  have  been  of  little  help  had 
the  six  men  proved  to  be  desperadoes. 


Chapter  Two 

BOUT  this  time  Mrs.  Scott  Siddons  was  an- 
nounced to  appear  in  a  matinee  recital  at  a 
small  hall  on  the  south  side  of  Madison  street 
between  Clark  and  La  Salle  streets.  It  was 
called  Farwell  Hall.  I  said  not  a  word  to 
anyone,  but  purchased  a  ticket  and  took  an  inconspicuous 
seat  and  listened  with  rapt  attention  to  her  dramatic 
recitals  from  Scott  and  Shakespeare,  entranced  by  her 
rare  beauty  and  gorgeous  costume. 


28  My  Chicago 

As  I  came  down  the  stairs,  when  the  program  was 
finished,  I  was  suddenly  seized  with  the  idea  of  going  to 
see  her.  I  learned  she  was  staying  at  the  1'remont  House 
in  Lake  street.  I  had  never  been  in  an  hotel  in  my  life, 
but  I  mustered  up  sufficient  courage,  sought  out  the 
Tremont  House,  and  sent  up  word  to  Mrs.  Siddons  that 
a  young  lady  wished  to  see  her.  She  requested  that  I  be 
shown  to  her  room.  I  found  her  at  dinner,  which  she 
had  ordered  served  upon  her  return  from  her  reading. 

She  received  me  cordially,  and  to  my  surprise  asked  me 
to  recite  for  her,  which  I  did,  selecting  from  my  repertoire 
"The  Bells  of  Shandon"  and  then  "Rock  of  Ages,"  a 
poem  which  depicted  the  singing  of  the  hymn  by  an  old 
woman,  a  young  child  and  other  characters.  When  I  had 
finished  she  said, 

"Miss  Morgan,  you  read  very  well.  I  should  like  you 
to  appear  on  one  of  my  programs  the  next  time  I  come 
to  Chicago." 

I  replied  that  I  should  like  it  very  much  and  that  I 
thought  it  would  be  nice  if  we  could  do  something  to- 
gether. She  asked  what  I  would  suggest,  to  which  I 
promptly  responded, 

"The  garden  scene  from  Mary  Stuart  by  Schiller." 

She  said  she  thought  it  was  a  good  idea,  and  asked  me 
which  part  I  preferred.  I  told  her  Queen  Elizabeth; 
whereupon  she  said  she  would  study  the  scene  and  mem- 
orize the  part  of  Mary  Stuart,  and  we  shook  hands  and 
parted. 

For  months  I  walked  on  air  in  anticipation  of  this  great 
event.  One  day  in  November,  in  1881,  as  I  was  about 
to  board  a  Madison  street  car  in  front  of  McVicker's 
theatre,  a  man  who  knew  of  my  expectation  hailed  me 
with: 

"Did  you  know  Scott  Siddon's  agent  was  in  town?" 

I  said,  "No."  Whereupon  he  said,  "You  better  go  over 
and  see  Carpenter." 


Mrs.  Scott  Siddons. 


LibhARY 
OF  THE 

OF  ILLINOIS 


My  Chicago  29 

"Mr.  George  Benedict  Carpenter  was  then  the  Man- 
ager of  Central  Music  Hall  in  State  street,  at  the  corner 
of  Randolph,  now  covered  by  a  part  of  Marshall  Field's 
establishment. 

My  feet  scarcely  touched  the  ground  as  I  fairly  flew 
to  Mr.  Carpenter,  who  told  me  that  Mr.  J.  Leslie  Allen 
had  just  arranged  for  Mrs.  Siddon's  appearance  in  Central 
Music  Hall,  that  he  was  stopping  at  the  Tremont  House, 
and  that  I  had  better  get  hold  of  him  at  once.  Over  I 
went,  and  instead  of  going  to  the  office  I  asked  the  elevator 
boy  if  he  knew  Mr.  Allen.  He  said  he  did  and  that  Mr. 
Allen  was  up  in  his  room.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  point 
him  out  to  me  when  he  came  down,  and  seated  myself 
and  waited  patiently  for  two  hours,  when  a  dapper  little 
fellow  came  out  of  the  elevator. 

I  immediately  stepped  up  to  him,  told  him  my  name, 
and  asked  him  if  Mrs.  Siddons  had  told  him  of  our  agree- 
ment that  I  should  appear  on  her  program.  He  said  "No." 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Siddons  to-day?"  I  asked. 

He  gave  me  her  address,  which  was  some  town  in 
Indiana.  I  went  to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  this 
message: 

"Please  telegraph  your  agent  informing  him  of  your 
invitation  to  me  to  appear  with  you  here. — ANNA 
MORGAN."  In  two  hours  the  message  came : 

"Put  Miss  Morgan  on  my  program.  MARY  F.  SCOTT 
SIDDONS." 

When  the  eventful  day  came  I  was  in  bed  with  an  old- 
fashioned  sore  throat,  and  my  beloved  mother,  following 
a  custom  of  the  time,  had  my  throat  "done  up"  in  salt 
pork  enveloped  in  red  flannel.  I  was  very  ill,  but  when 
night  came  I  determined  to  brave  it  out  and  go  down  to 
the  hall.  Central  Music  Hall  at  that  time  was  new,  and 
a  beautiful  place  it  was.  It  is  a  great  pity  Chicago  was 


3O  My  Chicago 

deprived  in  1903  of  such  a  desirable  and  much-needed 
temple  of  art,  one  which  never  has  been  adequately  re- 
placed. 

Mrs.  Siddon's  appearance  was  the  first  dramatic  re- 
cital to  be  given  in  Central  Music  Hall.  The  interest  on 
the  part  of  the  public  in  seeing  the  new  hall,  with  that  of 
seeing  and  hearing  an  artist  possessed  of  historic  name 
as  well  as  of  fame  and  beauty,  attracted  a  representative 
audience  which  tested  the  capacity  of  the  house. 

When  I  arrived  in  the  dressing  room  Mrs.  Siddons 
greeted  me  as  a  well  loved  friend,  which  did  much  to 
quiet  my  temperature — physical  and  mental.  I  was  so  en- 
tranced by  her  beauty  that  I  completely  forgot  myself  and 
watched  her  put  the  finishing  touches  to  her  makeup,  an 
art  of  which  she  was  complete  mistress.  Even  after  she 
went  upon  the  platform  she  had  a  fashion  of  changing  a 
rose  from  one  side  of  her  belt  to  the  other  and  doing 
various  little  things  to  give  the  audience  time  to  become 
acquainted  with  her  before  she  announced  her  readings. 

The  first  part  of  her  program  consisted  of  selections 
from  Scott's  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake."  Then  appeared 
in  distinctive  type  "How  Ruby  Played,"  by  Miss  Anna 
Morgan."  I  had  selected  this  sketch,  which  had  shortly 
before  been  printed  in  the  New  York  Tribune,  and  which 
never  had  been  given  in  Chicago.  It  was  a  countryman's 
description  of  Rubenstein's  playing  on  the  piano.  The  ac- 
count was  not  only  humorous,  but  truthful.  Coming  in 
contrast  to  Scott's  classic  poem  and  preceded  by  Mrs. 
Siddons'  announcement  that  the  next  number  on  the  pro- 
gram would  be  given  by  Miss  Anna  Morgan,  whom  she 
had  no  need  to  introduce  to  a  Chicago  audience,  and  who 
was  suffering  from  a  severe  cold  which  she  as  a  sister 
artist  could  fully  sympathize  with,  resulted  in  a  storm  of 
applause — in  fact  a  perfect  ovation.  I  remember  she 
kissed  me  and  said: 

"You  must  give  them  something  more." 


My  Chicago  31 

After  going  out  and  bowing  a  couple  of  times,  I  recited 
a  pathetic  little  sketch  called  "Poor  Little  Joe,"  which 
recounted  the  death  of  a  little  waif,  and  left  the  audience 
in  tears. 

I  remember  I  thought  it  would  show  great  composure 
to  move  the  chair  on  which  I  had  been  sitting  while  I 
gave  the  sketch,  after  I  had  finished,  and  that  later  on 
Mrs.  Anna  Cowell  Hobkirk,  an  actress  who  was  in  the 
audience  told  me  I  must  never  do  it  again  because  it  de- 
tracted from  the  pathos  of  my  climax.  To  my  amaze- 
ment The  Associated  Press  the  following  morning  an- 
nounced that  Miss  Anna  Morgan  had  appeared  in  Chicago 
with  Scott  Siddons  and  had  carried  off  the  honors  of  the 
evening.  While  mortifying  to  me  at  the  moment,  it  prob- 
ably had  no  serious  effect  upon  Mrs.  Siddons'  business, 
and  did  secure  for  me  immediate  openings  in  the  larger 
lecture  courses  of  the  country,  and  my  fee  rose  from  $25 
to  $100. 

I  never  knew  why  Mrs.  Siddons  was  prompted  to  do 
this  for  me.  Mr.  Carpenter  said  the  next  day : 

"It's  the  most  generous  thing  I  ever  knew  Mrs.  Siddons 
to  do." 

At  any  rate,  it  gave  me  a  tremendous  "boost"  which 
I  have  always  appreciated,  and  I  wish  to  contribute  my 
little  bunch  of  rosemary  in  remembrance  of  her  kindness. 

Mary  Frances  Scott  Siddons  was  the  daughter  of  Cap- 
tain William  Young  Siddons,  and  was  the  great  grand- 
daughter of  the  famous  Sarah  Siddons.  She  was  born  in 
India  and  educated  in  Germany.  In  1862  she  married  Scott 
Chanter,  a  British  naval  officer.  In  1865  she  prefixed  the 
name  Scott  to  that  of  Siddons,  and  took  up  a  career  upon 
the  stage  as  an  actress  and  dramatic  reader.  Her  debut 
was  made  in  London  as  Juliet.  Her  American  debut  was 
in  Boston,  where  she  appeared  as  Lady  Macbeth. 

In  1869  Mrs.  Siddons  was  a  member  of  Augustin 
Daly's  Company  at  his  Fifth  Avenue  theatre  in  New 


32  My  Chicago 

York,  playing  Rosalind,  Viola,  Beatrice,  King  Rene's 
Daughter,  and  other  parts.  She  was  then  in  her  twenty- 
fifth  year,  and  her  appearance  was  characterized  as  that 
of  a  demure  vitality,  not  great  in  any  part,  but  charming 
in  everything.  In  reply  to  a  letter  I  wrote  her  in  which 
I  spoke  of  her  advantage  in  possessing  beauty  and  a  his- 
toric name,  she  replied, 

"Before  closing  allow  me  to  say  that  in  my  opinion,  you, 
in  common  with  many  others,  err  greatly  in  supposing 
that  either  great  beauty  or  an  inherited  historic  name 
are  of  so  great  an  advantage  to  me.  Beauty  never  serves 
for  long,  and  a  great  name  is  a  most  onerous  burden  unless 
there  happens  to  be  a  good  foundation  to  support  it.  The 
inheritance  of  the  name  of  Siddons  is  enough  to  crush  at 
once  any  aspirant  to  dramatic  honors,  unless  he  or  she 
possess  something  more  than  that  and  beauty  to  make 
good  the  claim.  The  only  good  that  my  maiden  name  did 
me  was  that  it  attracted  the  attention  of  the  public  toward 
my  first  efforts;  but  it  never  helped  me  to  satisfy  their 
high  expectations — rather  the  reverse. 
Yours  faithfully, 

Mary  F.  Siddons." 

Mrs.  Siddons'  last  performance  in  Chicago  was  in  1 883, 
when  she  played  at  McVicker's  Theatre  in  "King  Rene's 
Daughter."  She  died  in  London  in  1896. 

Immediately  after  my  engagement  with  Mrs.  Siddons 
I  went  to  New  York  to  secure  if  possible  an  appearance 
in  a  large  course  of  entertainments  then  being  given  in 
Chickering  Hall.  I  sought  out  the  manager,  one  Mr. 
Vail,  who  had  an  office  somewhere  on  Broadway,  I  think 
near  Fourteenth  street.  I  told  him  of  my  wish  to  appear 
in  his  course.  He  scarcely  looked  at  me,  and  said, 

"My  course  is  full." 

"I  muttered,  partly  to  myself,  something  about  being 
disappointed,  something  about  Chicago;  when  he  sud- 


Anna  Morgan, 

as  she  appeared  with 
Scott  Siddons  in  1881. 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


My  Chicago  33 

denly  turned  in  the  revolving  chair  in  which  he  sat  and 
said, 

"You  are  not  the  young  woman  who  has  recently  ap- 
peared in  Chicago  with  Scott-Siddons?" 

"Yes,  I  am,"  I  replied.    Then  he  said, 

"Well,  Vandenhoff  has  the  gout,  and  may  not  be  able 
to  appear  on  the  twenty-eighth." 

Then  he  went  on  to  mention  possible  openings,  and 
finally  said  in  a  patronizing  manner  never-to-be-forgotten. 

"Let  me  have  your  address,  Miss  Morgan,  and  I  will 
telegraph  you  if  I  can  make  an  opening  for  you." 

I  was  staying  with  some  cousins  who  lived  well  on  the 
outskirts  of  Brooklyn,  and  thinking  the  telegram  would 
reach  me  quicker,  I  gave  my  cousin's  business  address  in 
Wall  Street  and  took  my  departure,  feeling  perfectly  sure 
the  message  to  "read"  would  be  forthcoming.  My  cousin, 
Mr.  Franklin  Morey,  was  an  unsophisticated  man  of 
Quaker  origin,  wholly  unacquainted  with  people  in  profes- 
sional life,  and  I  never  shall  forget  with  what  an  air  of 
something  distinctly  out  of  the  ordinary  he  came  home  in 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a  few  days  later  with  a 
telegram : 

"Have  put  you  on  the  program  for  January  twenty- 
eighth.  J.  VAIL." 

I  haven't  a  program  and  cannot  recall  what  I  read, 
probably  "How  Ruby  Played,"  "How  the  Old  Horse  Won 
the  Bet,"  "The  Brakeman  At  Church,"  and  other  numbers 
then  in  demand.  I  remember  my  appearance  was  produc- 
tive of  good  results,  and  other  engagements  in  Brooklyn 
and  that  vicinity  followed. 

On  November  2ist,  1882,  I  appeared  in  the  Roberts 
Course,  Boston  Music  Hall.  Several  years  before,  my 
father  had  paid  a  visit  to  Boston  and  on  his  return  had 
given  a  wonderful  account  of  the  great  organ  which  was 
a  distinctive  feature  of  this  hall,  and  which  he  had  heard 
in  connection  with  the  singing  of  Parepa  Rosa. 


34  My  Chicago 

Through  the  •introduction  of  a  friend  I  went  to  Hotel 
Winthrop  in  Boylston  street,  which  at  that  time  was  the 
winter  home  of  John  G.  Whittier,  Celia  Thaxter,  and 
other  professional  and  artistic  folk.  Soon  after  my  arrival 
I  met  Charles  Kent,  an  English  actor,  then  at  the  Boston 
Theatre  in  a  play  called  "The  World,"  in  which  he  died 
in  the  first  act,  which  enabled  him  to  come  to  Music  Hall 
in  time  to  hear  me;  and  I  remember  how  much  he  encour- 
aged and  helped  me  through  this  eventful  occasion.  I  re- 
member that  as  I  stood  on  the  most  trying  of  platforms, 
which  was  remote  from  the  audience  (a  faulty  way  of 
building  platforms  at  that  time),  and  realized  that  I  was 
singing  "Rock  of  Ages"  to  the  great  organ  which  I  had 
heard  my  father  talk  about  years  before,  I  was  almost 
paralyzed  with  fear.  I  must  have  disguised  the  fact,  for 
Mr.  James  H.  Roberts,  manager  of  the  course,  sent  me 
a  testimonial  the  next  day  in  which  he  said: 

"Miss  Anna  Morgan  of  Chicago  appeared  in  the 
Roberts  Course,  Boston  Music  Hall,  November  2ist, 
1882,  and  made  a  successful  appearance.  Although  a 
stranger  to  our  people,  she  was  heartily  encored." 

I  remained  a  guest  at  Hotel  Winthrop  for  two  weeks, 
during  which  time  I  made  many  charming  and  helpful 
acquaintances,  the  most  important  of  whom  was  John  G. 
Whittier.  We  used  to  assemble  in  the  parlor  evenings 
after  dinner  and  listen  to  his  reminiscences.  He  was  the 
simplest  of  men,  wholly  unsophisticated  and  untraveled, 
in  appearance  strongly  resembling  my  grandfather 
Morgan.  His  memory  was  somewhat  at  fault  He  used 
to  tell  us  over  and  over  again  about  a  trip  he  once  made 
to  Hartford  on  the  celebration  of  (I  think  it  was)  the 
seventy-fifth  birthday  of  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  On  that 
occasion  he  was  delegated  to  cross  the  lawn  escorting  Mrs. 
Frances  Hodgson  Burnett,  who  had  a  fashion  at  that  time 
of  dressing  in  an  eccentric  way.  Mr.  Whittier  fairly 
blushed  as  he  told  of  his  embarrassment  in  escorting  her 


My  Chicago  35 

to  her  seat.  He  presented  me  with  a  copy  of  his  poems, 
on  the  fly  leaf  of  which  was  written  To  Miss  Anna 
Morgan,  from  her  friend  John  G.  Whittier." 

This  little  volume  I  prized  highly.  Unfortunately  it 
disappeared  from  my  studios  years  ago,  and  I  never  was 
able  to  recover  it.  He  read  to  me  his  poem  "Marguerite" 
one  evening  when  we  were  alone  in  his  little  parlor,  and 
told  me  that  he  had  planned  a  long  poem  on  the  subject 
of  the  French  neutrals,  but  that  Longfellow's  "Evan- 
geline"  appeared  on  the  same  subject  before  he  had 
collected  his  material,  so  he  contended  himself  with  pub- 
lishing the  shorter  poem.  I  read  for  him  on  this  occasion, 
and  the  next  day  he  sent  me  the  following  letter: 

Hotel  Winthrop, 
Boston,  May  22,  1883 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  Anna 
Morgan's  recitation  of  Father  Prout's  'Bells  of 
Shandon'  and  other  pieces,  which  seemed  to  me  nat- 
urally and  admirably  rendered.  She  has  a  clear 
perception  of  the  thought  and  fancy  of  the  author, 
and  a  remarkable  adaptation  of  the  tone  and  gesture 
to  their  grave  or  gay  words. 

JOHN  G.  WHITTIER." 

In  June,  1883,  I  was  invited  to  pay  a  visit  to  some  rela- 
tions in  Evansville,  Indiana.  Soon  after  my  arrival  I  was 
induced  to  remain  and  give  instruction  to  a  large  number 
of  society  folk  who  were  interested  in  doing  things  dra- 
matic at  that  time.  The  work  proved  successful  and  enter- 
taining, and  at  the  end  of  six  weeks,  as  a  result  of 
this,  my  first  experience  in  teaching,  I  returned  to  Chicago 
with  between  five  and  six  hundred  dollars  in  my  pocket, 
which  seemed  quite  wonderful  to  me  then. 


36  My  Chicago 


Chapter  Three 

HEN  the  Chicago  Opera  House  was  built,  in 
1884,  David  Henderson  who  had  been  man- 
aging editor  of  The  Daily  News,  became  its 
manager.  At  that  time  Franklin  H.  Sargent 
of  New  York  had  started  The  Academy  of 
Dramatic  Art  in  connection  with  the  Empire  Theatre,  and 
Mr.  Henderson,  wishing  to  keep  abreast  of  the  times, 
proposed  a  similar  scheme  in  connection  with  his  Opera 
House,  and  entrusted  Mr.  Kayzer,  who  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  his,  to  organize  a  school  which  at  first  was 
called  The  Chicago  Opera  House  Conservatory. 

Rooms  were  secured  in  the  Reaper  Block  at  the  north- 
east corner  of  Washington  street,  diagonally  across  from 
the  Opera  House.  This  was  not  a  desirable  location 
for  an  aesthetic  school,  but  it  was  thought  it  must  be 
situated  near  the  Opera  House.  The  rooms  were  any- 
thing but  attractive,  but  the  moment  for  starting  such  a 
project  seemed  auspicious.  The  school  flourished  from 
the  beginning.  Unfortunately  the  records  of  those  first 
years,  in  fact  of  all  the  succeeding  years,  were  destroyed. 
I  write  of  them  entirely  from  memory. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  I  had  been  successful  in  my 
efforts  at  teaching  and  rehearsing  in  Evansville,  I  was 
invited  to  become  a  member  of  the  faculty,  which  num- 
bered twenty-five,  the  names  of  whom  I  cannot  recall  with 
the  exception  of  Colonel  Monstery,  a  celebrated  fenc- 
ing master,  George  Sweet,  and  Katherine  Van  Arnhem 
(who  taught  singing),  George  B.  Berrell  from  the  Opera 
House  (who  was  engaged  as  Dramatic  Coach),  Mr. 
Kayzer,  and  myself.  Later  on  John  Stapleton  who  had 
been  associated  with  Augustin  Daly,  became  the  stage 


My  Chicago  37 

manager  and  produced  some  very  attractive  plays  at  the 
Opera  House,  which  helped  to  bring  the  school  into  im- 
mediate notice  and  favor. 

It  was  the  policy  of  the  school  to  give  a  miscellaneous 
program  of  recitations  and  musical  numbers  before  thr 
public  performance  of  plays.  On  one  occasion  I  was  re- 
citing the  garden  scene  from  "Mary  Stuart"  when  smoke 
began  to  appear  from  the  rear  of  the  stage.  Realizing 
that  a  panic  was  imminent,  I  stepped  to  the  footlights  and 
assured  the  audience  that  the  building  was  fireproof  and 
there  was  no  danger,  and  at  once  began  the  recital  of  a 
humorous  sketch.  The  next  morning  The  Associated 
Press  announced  in  big  headlines,  "Panic  in  Theatre 
Averted  by  a  Woman,"  and  then  went  on  to  state  the 
facts. 

Some  time  in  1886  Frederick  Perry,  who  has  been  more 
or  less  distinguished  upon  the  dramatic  stage,  joined  the 
Conservatory  classes,  and  I  rehearsed  him  in  the  first  part 
in  which  he  ever  appeared  before  an  audience.  The  play 
was  a  one-act  farce  called  "Sixes  and  Sevens."  Bella 
Tomlins  and  Sarah  Truax,  two  young  women  who  have 
since  won  distinction  as  artists,  were  also  in  the  cast. 

Of  course  a  teacher  in  dealing  with  pupils  from  all 
grades  of  society,  and  with  widely  differing  ideas  re- 
garding the  art  which  they  are  seeking  to  represent,  is 
bound  to  encounter  painful  as  well  as  humorous  occur- 
rences. I  will  mention  one  which  happened  in  the  early 
days  of  the  Conservatory.  I  had  rehearsed  a  young 
woman  Miss  Katherine  Alvord  in  the  character  of  Bar- 
bara in  a  one-act  play  by  Jerome  K.  Jerome,  called  "Bar- 
bara." Barbara  was  a  poor  girl  and  in  the  original  pro- 
duction of  the  play  was  properly  costumed  in  a  simple  grey 
gown  with  plain  collar  and  cuffs.  The  girl  made  such  a 
success  of  the  role  that  a  few  weeks  later,  when  Louis 
James  was  playing  an  engagement  in  Chicago,  we  decided 
to  repeat  the  play  at  a  matinee  performance  in  order  that 


38  My  Chicago 

Mr.  James,  who  was  looking  for  a  leading  woman,  might 
judge  of  her  ability.  I  was  ill  when  the  day  came,  and 
unable  to  be  present.  After  the  play  I  was  informed 
that  Miss  Alvord,  in  order  to  impress  Mr.  James,  had 
appeared  in  a  black  gown  heavily  jetted.  She  thought  it 
would  give  her  a  finer  appearance,  and  furthermore  she 
had  taken  an  artificial  rose  which  had  been  improvised  as 
a  property  at  the  last  moment  because  a  genuine  one  had 
not  been  provided,  and  in  an  emotional  climax  had  pulled 
the  rose  to  pieces,  disclosing  to  the  audience  the  cotton 
on  which  it  was  built.  Nothwithstanding  these  errors 
of  judgment  she  was  engaged,  and  played  several  suc- 
cessful seasons  with  Mr.  James,  and  later  with  Augustin 
Daly. 

In  those  beginning  years  of  the  Conservatory,  evening 
as  well  as  day  classes  were  conducted.  One  night  I  came 
down  to  the  school  about  7  o'clock,  and  as  I  reached  the 
elevator  I  discovered  a  little  mite  of  a  girl,  her  curly  head 
and  expressive  eyes  enveloped  in  a  red  woolen  hood.  She 
was  accompanied  by  her  brother,  a  youth  of  perhaps 
seventeen,  who  informed  me  they  had  come  to  see  Miss 
Morgan  because  his  little  sister  was  talented  and  wished 
to  take  lessons.  When  we  reached  my  studio  I  asked 
her  name  and  was  told  it  was  Dora  Drosdovitch,  and 
that  her  father  kept  a  second-hand  clothing  store  in  South 
Clark  Street.  I  asked  her  to  recite  for  me.  Her  recita- 
tion was  full  of  all  sorts  of  exaggerations  and  tricky 
"business"  which  had  been  taught  her  by  some  inartistic 
teacher  of  the  old  school.  But  the  absurdities  could  not 
hide  the  expression  of  real  talent  with  which  I  readily  dis- 
covered the  child  was  endowed.  I  was  thrilled  with  the 
belief  that  I  had  found  another  Rachel,  and  immediately 
began  to  think  of  plays  in  which  to  exploit  a  child  of  ten. 

A  few  years  previous  Augustin  Daly  had  translated 
a  play  from  the  French  for  Bijou  Heron,  then  a  member 
of  his  New  York  company,  in  which  the  heroine  was  a 


My  Chicago  39 

little  girl.  The  name  of  the  play  was  "Monsieur  Al- 
phonse."  I  had  seen  it  produced  at  McVicker's  Theatre. 
Happening  to  be  in  New  York,  I  sought  an  interview  with 
Mr.  Daly  and  asked  his  permission  to  produce  the  play 
with  Dora  as  the  star.  When  he  told  me  that  his  price 
would  be  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  a  single  per- 
formance my  enthusiasm  waned,  and  I  contented  myself 
with  scenes  between  Hubert  and  Prince  Arthur,  from 
King  John,  and  some  performances  of  "Editha's  Burg- 
lar" written  by  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett,  a  play  which 
then  was  popular.  "Dora"  proved  a  distinct  feature  of 
Conservatory  matinees  for  about  three  years,  but  for 
reasons  which  I  do  not  recall  her  family  moved  west,  and 
so  far  as  I  know  she  never  had  any  connection  with  the 
professional  stage. 

Previous  to  that,  Walker  Whiteside,  a  lad  of  ten,  had 
come  to  Chicago  from  Kansas,  and  after  two  years'  train- 
ing with  Mr.  Kayzer  in  Shakespeare  parts  made  a  suc- 
cessful debut  at  The  Grand  Opera  House  as  "Hamlet" 
and  "Richard  the  Third."  On  the  opening  night  I  yielded 
to  his  childish  wish  to  wear  a  diamond  ring  of  mine  which 
he  greatly  admired  and  from  which,  after  the  play  was 
over,  a  large  diamond  was  missing,  but  it  was  miracu- 
lously discovered  later  on  rolled  up  in  the  stage  carpet. 
After  this  first  engagement  Walker  grew  so  tall  he  could 
no  longer  star  as  a  prodigy,  and  did  not  play  until  some 
years  later,  when  he  reappeared  in  "Hamlet"  at  The 
Schiller  Theatre.  I  remember  I  sat  next  Teddy  Mc- 
Phelim,  then  dramatic  critic  of  The  Tribune,  and  how 
thrilled  we  both  were  as  Hamlet  left  the  stage  after  the 
scene  with  the  ghost,  uttering  the  words  "Go  on,  I'll  fol- 
low thee."  We  both  agreed  it  was  the  most  inspired  de- 
livery we  had  ever  heard  in  a  Shakespeare  play.  I  might 
add  that  Walker  Whiteside  has  continued  to  act  from 
that  time  on,  and  is  still  an  honored  member  of  the 
dramatic  profession. 


4O  My  Chicago 

Among  other  juvenile  recruits  to  the  Conservatory 
ranks  a  little  later  were  the  Murphy  children,  Fred  and 
Marie,  who  came  from  Danville,  Illinois.  Fred  was  one 
of  the  most  interesting  and  satisfactory  members  of  my 
classes,  and  turned  out  to  be  an  excellent  reader  and 
actor. 

Under  the  stage  name  of  Fred  Eric,  Fred  joined  Julia 
Marlowe's  Company  while  yet  he  was  a  boy,  remaining 
with  it  six  seasons,  during  which  time  he  won  wide  recog- 
nition as  the  one  actor  of  the  younger  generation  capable 
of  reading  blank  verse  with  intelligence  and  proper  em- 
phasis. He  played  with  Otis  Skinner  in  a  varied  reper- 
toire, and  later  accompanied  the  Sothern-Marlowe 
Company  to  England,  where  he  won  high  praise  from 
the  London  critics.  He  is  the  youngest  American  actor 
to  win  recognition  at  home  and  abroad  for  unusual  gifts 
in  the  interpretation  of  poetic  drama. 

At  this  period  Steele  MacKaye  had  returned  to  New 
York  from  Paris  where  he  had  been  studying  with 
Francois  Delsarte  his  analysis  of  expression.  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  excitement  about  Delsarte  just  then.  Stu- 
dents were  flocking  to  New  York  from  all  over  the 
country,  standing  in  line  eager  to  pay  twenty  dollars  an 
hour  for  instruction,  convinced  that  this  "new  method" 
was  a  certain  road  to  fame  and  fortune  on  the  musical 
and  dramatic  stages. 

I  was  impressed  with  the  fact  that  it  was  a  grammar  of 
expression  and  that  it  would  have  a  great  vogue,  so  I 
went  down  and  interviewed  Mr.  MacKaye,  secured  two 
books,  translations  of  Delsarte's  lessons  written  by  two 
of  his  pupils,  and  at  once  began  to  teach  the  Delsarte 
Method  of  Expression,  with  the  result  that  large  numbers 
were  attracted  to  my  classes.  I  arranged  a  series  of  ex- 
hibition exercises  for  which  I  had  music  specially  written, 
drilled  a  class  of  men  in  a  pantomime  depicting  the  death 
of  Julius  Caesar,  and  another  which  I  called  "The  Fate 


My  Chicago  41 

of  Virginia,"  based  on  Macauley's  poem,  and  announced 
"An  Hour  with  Delsarte"  which  was  given  in  the  Opera 
House. 

I  designed  the  costumes,  and  in  order  to  get  an  artistic 
arrangement  of  colors  went  over  to  Marshall  Field's  and 
got  samples  of  cheesecloth  which  I  proceeded  to  pin  on  a 
large  sheet  of  brown  paper  and  experimented  with  them 
until  I  secured  a  satisfactory  combination.  This  occasion 
was  my  first  introduction  to  Elia  W.  Peattie,  who  had 
just  begun  to  write  for  Chicago  newspapers.  She  was 
sent  by  the  Daily  News  to  write  up  the  novel  perform- 
ance, which  she  did.  Her  story  with  its  illustrations  oc- 
cupied three  columns  of  the  paper.  I  remember  she  was 
greatly  amused  at  sight  of  my  sheet  of  brown  paper  with 
its  bunches  of  color  pinned  on  here  and  there.  I  still  have 
that  sheet  in  my  possession. 

Franklin  H.  Sargent,  newly  graduated  from  Harvard, 
had  with  many  others  become  interested  in  the  Delsarte 
Method  of  Expression,  and  as  I  have  before  stated,  had 
started  the  American  Academy  of  Dramatic  Art  in  New 
York.  In  1886  he  paid  a  visit  to  Chicago  and  accepted 
my  invitation  to  give  a  talk  at  the  Conservatory,  in  which 
he  set  forth  the  principles  of  Delsarte  in  the  peculiar  terms 
which  enveloped  that  teacher's  philosophy,  dilating  upon 
the  concentric  position  of  the  right  foot  when  the  left  arm 
was  eccentric  centro,  and  so  on.  I  dared  not  look  at  Mr. 
Kayzer,  John  Wilkie,  Lyman  Glover,  Robert  Peattie, 
or  John  Stapleton  during  the  talk,  and  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Sargent  took  his  departure  they  all  swooped  down  upon 
me  and  said, 

"Will  you  tell  us  what  this  man  has  been  talking 
about?  It's  the  biggest  tommyrot  we  ever  heard." 

But  it  wasn't, — it  was  a  grammar  of  expression  couched 
in  terms  of  art  and  at  first  presented  in  an  impractical 
fashion,  with  much  exaggeration  which  brought  it  into 


42  My  Chicago 

more  or  less  ridicule,  but  which  left  its  impress  upon  the 
art  of  expression  through  voice  and  action. 

Shortly  after  this,  as  I  stood  before  one  of  my  classes, 
I  was  impressed  with  the  necessity  for  a  book  that  would 
be  of  more  practical  value  than  the  translation  from  the 
French,  and  I  said  "I  must  write  it."  So  I  set  about  it 
at  once  and  prevailed  upon  my  sister  Marian  and  a  friend 
to  make  some  sketches  of  my  pupils  illustrative  of  the 
work,  which  they  did.  Before  the  book  was  finished  I  de- 
termined to  go  to  New  York  to  arrange  for  its  publica- 
tion. I  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  publishers,  nor  of 
their  policies,  nor  methods,  but  the  name  of  Appletons 
made  a  strong  appeal  to  me,  and  upon  reaching  New  York 
I  went  at  once  to  their  office.  The  reader  for  this  then 
foremost  publishing  house  in  New  York  was  an  elderly 
man,  very  kindly  in  his  manner.  He  told  me  their  rule 
was  never  to  accept  a  book  without  taking  time  for  con- 
sideration; but  when  I  told  him  I  was  obliged  to  return 
to  Chicago  the  next  day  he  politely  consented  to  take  the 
manuscript  to  his  home  in  Brooklyn  and  read  it. 

I  was  in  his  office  waiting  for  him  upon  his  arrival  in 
the  morning.  He  told  me  the  Appletons  would  publish 
the  book,  bringing  it  put  in  a  paper  cover  to  sell  for  fifty 
cents.  This  proposition  did  not  meet  with  my  approval, 
so  I  bade  him  good-morning  and  repaired  to  Houghton 
and  Mifflin's  New  York  office  and  presented  my  case. 
Young  Mr.  Mifflin  told  me  I  had  better  go  over  to  Boston 
and  see  his  uncle  Mr.  Houghton,  the  senior  member  of 
Houghton  and  Mifflin  (by  the  way,  they  still  are  in  the 
front  rank  of  publishers)  ;  so  I  took  the  night  boat  for 
Boston.  As  I  approached  their  office  I  encountered  Moses 
True  Browne,  then  at  the  head  of  the  Boston  School  of 
Oratory.  He  inquired  my  errand  in  Boston  and  when  I 
told  him  he  said, 

"I  doubt  whether  Houghton  &  Mifflin  will  take  your 
book,  for  they  are  just  bringing  out  a  book  of  mine  and 


My  Chicago  43 

it  is  against  their  rules  to  bring  out  two  books  on  the 
same  subject  in  the  same  year,"  which  proved  to  be  the 
case. 

At  their  suggestion  I  went  to  Lee  and  Shepherd's  and 
placed  with  them  the  book,  "An  Hour  with  Delsarte." 
They  brought  it  out  in  most  artistic  style.  It  sold  for  two 
dollars  a  copy. 

Among  the  pupils  in  the  Conservatory  classes  at  that 
time  were  the  children  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ferdinand  W. 
Peck.  Mr.  Peck  had  become  interested  in  the  school  and 
in  Mr.  Kayzer.  As  a  consequence  when  the  Auditorium 
building  was  projected  it  was  decided  the  name  should  be 
changed  to  The  Chicago  Conservatory,  and  that  we 
should  remove  to  rooms  especially  designed  for  us  in 
that  building.  The  school  became  established  in  those  new 
and  beautiful  quarters  in  1889.  Eminent  teachers  were 
added  to  the  musical  department,  William  H.  Sherwood 
being  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Piano  Department,  Leo- 
pold Godowsky,  Calvin  B.  Cady,  W.  S.  B.  Matthews, 
Julia  Lois  Caruthers,  and  others  being  associate  teachers. 

Sig.  Carpi  of  Milan  was  engaged  as  head  of  the  de- 
partment of  singing,  which  included  many  distinguished 
teachers.  I  retained  my  position  as  head  of  the  dramatic 
department,  Mr.  Hart  Conway  being  engaged  as  stage 
director  and  producer  of  plays.  The  faculty  was  a  large 
one,  including  all  branches  of  music,  dramatic  art,  danc- 
ing, and  French,  German  and  Italian. 

I  cannot  undertake  to  record  the  many  fine  concerts 
given  by  members  of  the  faculty  and  their  professional 
pupils,  nor  of  the  stage  productions  given  by  Mr.  Hart 
Conway  from  1889  to  1899,  for  I  have  no  records  of 
them. 


44  My  Chicago 


Chapter  Four 


of  my  own  productions  during  my  con- 
nection with  the  Conservatory  are  worthy 
of  record  as  being  among  the  earliest  efforts 
in  Chicago  to  produce  the  literary  drama, 
which  later  on  was  called  the  New  Theatre 
Movement  and  The  Little  Theatre. 

On  March  21,  1896,  I  gave  the  first  presentation  in 
America  of  Ibsen's  "The  Master  Builder"  at  Powers 
Theatre,  before  a  crowded  house  of  representative  social, 
educational,  literary  and  artistic  members  of  Chicago 
society.  I  had  taken  great  pains  in  rehearsing  it.  I  was 
fortunate  in  having  an  ideal  cast.  Altogether  it  was  an 
event  of  dramatic  importance  in  Chicago,  and  was  truly 
appreciated  by  the  small  number  who  at  the  time  knew 
something  of  Ibsen  and  who  at  least  partially  realized 
what  an  important  share  he  was  to  have  in  the  evolution 
of  the  drama. 

Unfortunately  Edward  J.  McPhelim,  for  some  years 
the  dramatic  critic  of  The  Tribune,  a  man  of  rare  literary 
intuition  and  attainment,  was  too  ill  to  attend  the  per- 
formance though  he  had  looked  forward  to  it  with  much 
interest.  He  was  thoroughly  familiar  with  this  most 
literary  of  the  Ibsen  plays,  and  enthusiastic  over  its 
being  done  in  Chicago ;  and  of  course  would  have  written 
an  intelligent  criticism  of  the  performance.  As  it  was, 
Mr.  Barrett  Eastman  was  detailed  by  The  Tribune  to 
write  the  article.  He  acknowledged  to  the  Chatfield- 
Taylors,  with  whom  he  sat  at  the  play,  that  he  had 
never  read  it,  had  never  even  heard  of  it. 

Mr.  Hamlin  Garland,  newly  arrived  in  Chicago  and 
much  interested  in  the  new  theatre  movement,  made  some 


My  Chicago  45 

remarks  before  the  curtain  rose  on  the  first  act,  in  which 
he  said  among  other  things,  "Ibsen  is  not  on  trial  to-day, 
but  the  people  of  Chicago."  Mr.  Eastman  took  this 
remark  for  his  cue  and  devoted  about  three  columns  to 
"roasting"  Mr.  Garland,  the  play,  and  its  author.  I 
have  dwelt  at  length  on  this,  because  I  wish  to  record  the 
lack  of  appreciation  and  encouragement  I  encountered 
from  our  critics  on  this  and  subsequent  occasions. 

This  being  the  first  production  of  the  play  in  English, 
the  cast  should  be  recorded: 

Halvard    Solness,    a    master 

builder    Mr.  Edward  Dvorak 

Aline  Solness,  his  wife Miss  Katherine  Knowles 

Dr.  Herdal,  their  family  phy- 
sician   Mr.  Albert  Augustus 

Knute  Brovik,  formerly  archi- 
tect, now  assistant  to  Solness .  .Mr.  John  Dvorak 

Ragnar  Brovik,  his  son Mr.  Herbert  Skinner 

Kaja  Foslic,  his  niece Miss  Margaret  Wagner 

Hilda  Wangel Miss  Sophea  Levea 

Miss  Maud  Caruthers 

Ladies Miss  Jessie  Harding 

I  also  produced  in  1896  "Old  Wine,"  a  one-act  play 
written  by  Herbert  Stuart  Stone  and  Harrison  Rhodes 
during  their  college  days  at  Harvard.  These  young 
men  had  just  started  the  publication  of  "The  Chap  Book" 
and  for  many  reasons  were  popular,  and  their  play,  which 
was  given  at  Powers  Theatre,  was  largely  attended  and 
much  appreciated  by  their  numerous  friends. 

Mrs.  Edward  Mysenberg,  mother  of  Janet  Beecher 
and  Olive  Wyndom,  was  in  the  cast  and  distinguished 
herself  as  an  old  and  privileged  servant. 

In  1896  Maeterlinck,  as  well  as  Ibsen,  had  appeared 
on  the  literary-dramatic  horizon,  and  I  had  fallen 


46  My  Chicago 

in  love  with  the  charm  of  his  work,  especially  with 
a  one-act  play  "The  Intruder."  Possibly  my  interest  in 
the  play  and  its  author  and  the  desire  to  meet  him  actu- 
ated me  to  visit  Europe  in  July  of  that  summer.  I  took 
passage  on  an  Atlantic  transport  steamer  for  Paris.  The 
boat  carried  freight  chiefly,  having  accommodation  for 
only  forty  passengers.  Before  we  fairly  set  sail  I  be- 
came possessed  of  the  idea  to  write  an  article  "In  a 
Modern  Noah's  Ark,  or  From  America  to  Paris  by 
Freight."  There  happened  to  be  a  man  on  board  bound 
for  Calcutta  who  made  some  clever  sketches  for  me  il- 
lustrative of  my  article,  one  of  the  Captain  and  his  pet 
lamb,  and  some  of  the  horses  on  board.  I  also  wrote 
an  article  on  Maeterlinck  during  the  trip,  called  "The 
Belgian  Shakespeare."  Both  articles  were  published  in 
The  Chicago  Herald. 

On  this  trip  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Dr.  Marcus 
Simpson,  who  had  recently  been  graduated  from  Colum- 
bia University  and  who  was  on  his  way  to  Munich  for 
a  course  in  German  literature.  He  happened  to  be  in 
Brussels  as-guest  of  the  American  consul  when  I  arrived 
there  on  my  search  for  Maeterlinck,  and  readily  accepted 
my  invitation  to  go  with  me  to  Ghent  and  help  find  him. 
Upon  our  arrival  after  an  hour's  ride  by  train,  we  drove 
to  a  bookstore  to  learn  his  address.  I  remember  the 
man  whom  we  addressed  said  he  knew  no  one  by  the  name 
of  Maeterlinck  in  Ghent.  Whereupon  Dr.  Simpson  said, 

"Why,  this  lady  has  come  all  the  way  from  America 
to  see  him.  He  is  a  famous  man." 

After  some  deliberation  the  man  produced  a  card 
from  a  small  drawer  in  a  secretary  remarking,  "That 
might  be  the  man."  We  jumped  into  our  waiting  cab 
and  drove  to  the  house,  only  to  find  a  note  tacked  to 
the  door  saying  Maeterlinck  was  at  Oostaeker,  his  country 
home,  a  five  mile  drive  into  the  country. 

Although  we  had  promised  to  join  a  party  of  friends 


My  Chicago  47 

on  the  twelve  o'clock  train  for  an  afternoon  at  Bruges, 
we  determined  to  carry  out  our  plan  of  finding  Maeter- 
linck, so  off  we  started.  We  arrived  at  his  home  in  the 
nick  of  time,  just  as  he  was  mounting  his  bicycle  to  go 
for  a  ride.  From  the  nature  of  his  writings  I  had  ex- 
pected to  see  a  thin,  pale,  aesthetic  looking  man.  In- 
stead I  found  a  man  who  was  the  picture  of  health,  with 
black  hair,  eyes  too  blue  to  be  violet,  a  ruddy  complexion, 
and  above  the  medium  size.  He  was  cordial  but  reti- 
cent, spoke  French  only,  asked  many  questions  about  art 
and  literature  in  America,  expressed  great  interest  in 
hearing  of  the  production  of  "The  Master  Builder." 
When  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  produce  "The  Intruder" 
he  seemed  greatly  pleased.  He  took  us  into  his  garden 
and  picked  a  huge  bouquet  of  old-fashioned  flowers 
which  he  presented  to  me,  after  which  we  bade  him  good- 
bye in  order  to  make  our  train.  After  my  return  to 
America  I  received  a  charming  letter  from  him  in  which 
he  referred  to  my  brief  visit,  adding  that  he  found  in 
me  "one  not  at  all  a  stranger." 

I  began  rehearsals  of  "The  Intruder"  in  December, 
1896,  and  although  the  play  required  less  than  thirty 
minutes  in  performance  I  continued  work  on  it  for  three 
months,  presenting  it  at  Steinway  Hall,  February  27, 1 897. 
It  is  safe  to  say  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  one-act  plays  ever 
written,  and  the  most  difficult  to  rehearse,  one  that  calls 
for  the  utmost  patience.  I  sat  and  listened  to  it  by  the 
hour  until  I  got  the  tone  work  and  the  rhythm  which  the 
play  demanded,  in  several  instances  trying  as  many  as 
twenty  voices  before  finding  the  quality  which  the  lines 
required.  Three  days  before  the  date  announced  for  the 
production,  the  man  who  had  rehearsed  the  blind  grand- 
father for  three  months  was  taken  critically  ill,  and  a  new 
man  had  to  be  rehearsed.  Fortunately  he  had  been 
present  at  most  of  the  rehearsals  and  was  thoroughly 


48  My  Chicago 

familiar  with  the  lines  and  "business"  and  was  able  to 
give  a  creditable  performance. 

The  play  was  given  at  9.30  P.  M.  in  Steinway  Hall 
before  the  most  critical  audience  which  Chicago  could 
offer,  most  of  whom  thoroughly  appreciated  my  enter- 
prise and  courage  in  giving  Chicago  the  opportunity  of 
hearing  this  remarkable  play.  The  newspaper  men  for 
the  most  part  sat  on  the  back  seats  and  grinned,  regard- 
ing both  it  and  me  as  being  "queer."  I  have  no  record 
of  their  printed  criticisms,  but  Mr.  Henry  B.  Fuller  in  an 
article  written  for  the  Atlantic  Monthly  on  the  theatres 
of  Chicago  at  that  time,  said  "Little  can  be  found  for 
approval  beyond  the  efforts  of  Miss  Anna  Morgan  of 
the  Chicago  Conservatory,  who  gives  infrequent  per- 
formances of  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck  and  the  like,  a  work 
which  she  carries  on  with  great  enthusiasm  and  optimism 
despite  the  indifference  of  the  middle  public  and  the  re- 
sentment of  the  newspaper  press." 

Following  "The  Intruder"  I  gave  the  first  presenta- 
tion of  Browning's  "In  a  Balcony"  as  a  play,  Miss  Jessie 
Harding  playing  the  Queen,  Miss  Amy  Swartchild  being 
the  Constance,  and  James  Carew  (who  later  became  the 
husband  of  Ellen  Terry)  acting  the  role  of  Norbert.  I 
took  infinite  pains  in  its  preparation,  building  a  special 
setting  in  Recital  Hall,  the  Auditorium.  When  the 
evening  came  the  first  person  to  arrive  was  Jenkin  Lloyd 
Jones,  the  dean  of  the  Browning  cult  in  Chicago,  who 
greeted  me  with  these  words: 

"Miss  Morgan,  I  am  afraid  to  go  in.  You  know 
this  is  a  great  poem  and  I  am  afraid  to  see  it  acted." 

As  Miss  Harding  in  the  role  of  the  Queen  slowly 
descended  the  steps  of  the  balcony,  draped  in  some  gor- 
geous brocaded  window  hangings  which  we  had  resur- 
rected from  somewhere  on  the  north  side,  looking  the 
very  embodiment  of  that  particular  woman,  and  said, 
"This  hair  was  early  grey,"  the  expression  of  Mr. 


My  Chicago  49 

Jones'  eye  prepared  me  for  the  eulogies  which  he  re- 
corded of  her  work  and  of  the  entire  performance  and 
which  were  printed  in  Unity  Magazine. 

An  actor,  a  former  student  of  mine  who  witnessed  the 
performance,  returned  to  New  York  shortly  after  and 
described  it  to  Mrs.  Sarah  Cowell  LeMoyne,  then  famous 
as  an  interpretative  reader  of  Browning.  Mrs.  LeMoyne 
was  loath  to  believe  the  poem  could  succeed  as  a  play. 
Nevertheless  she  herself  presented  it  at  the  Grand  Opera 
House  five  years  later,  with  Eleanor  Robson  as  Con- 
stance, Otis  Skinner  as  Norbert,  she  herself  acting  the 
Queen.  It  was  about  as  unrelated  a  cast  as  possibly 
could  have  been  selected.  Mrs.  LeMoyne  smacked  of 
the  reading  desk  of  the  old  school,  was  dressed  in  a  con- 
ventional theatrical  costume ;  Mr.  Skinner  was  fresh  from 
rehearsals  of  Mark  Antony,  Miss  Robson  being  the  only 
fresh  material,  devoid  of  traditional  mannerisms. 

Mrs.  Peattie,  who  criticized  their  performance,  was 
careful  to  note  that  neither  Miss  Harding  nor  our  per- 
formance in  any  way  suffered  in  comparison. 

In  1898  I  gave  the  first  presentation  of  "The  Land  of 
Heart's  Desire"  by  William  Butler  Yeats,  at  a  matinee 
at  the  Great  Northern  Theatre,  which  had  just  been  com- 
pleted; and  a  little  later  gave  a  notable  performance  of 
two  one-act  plays,  "Afterglow"  and  "The  Stranger  with- 
in the  Gates,"  from  Mr.  Henry  B.  Fuller's  volume  of 
twelve  one-act  plays  entitled,  "The  Puppet  Booth." 

One  incident  in  "The  Stranger  within  the  Gates"  de- 
manded that  the  heroine  arrive  on  the  scene  in  a  coach. 
I  had  secured  from  Mr.  Leroy  Payne  the  use  of  an 
historic  coach  then  in  his  possession.  Just  before  the 
curtain  was  to  rise  on  this  act,  one  of  the  stage  hands 
came  to  me  in  great  distress,  telling  me  the  coach  had 
arrived  but  that  it  was  so  large  it  could  not  be  gotten 
through  the  stage  door.  Whereupon  I  flew  to  the  door 
and  called  to  the  driver  of  a  cab  who  chanced  to  be  in 


^o  My  Chicago 

the  alley,  to  take  his  horse  from  the  cab  and  bring  it 
upon  the  stage  at  once,  which  he  did.  When  the  moment 
came  for  the  arrival  I  had  the  man  whip  up  the  horse 
so  that  his  head  could  be  seen  from  the  wings,  and 
amidst  much  excitement  the  heroine,  who  supposedly  had 
alighted  from  a  coach,  appeared  on  the  scene;  and  the 
audience  applauded,  little  dreaming  of  what  had  trans- 
pired off  stage. 

A  few  months  later  I  gave  the  first  American  produc- 
tion of  "The  Fan,"  by  Goldoni,  especially  translated  for 
my  use  by  Mr.  Henry  B.  Fuller.  These  plays  called  for 
large  casts.  In  them  were  Mr.  Harold  Heaton,  Mr. 
Irving  K.  Pond,  Mr.  John  Robbins,  and  Miss  Katherine 
Knowles,  who  later  became  Mrs.  Robbins. 

For  years  "Hamlet"  had  been  a  favorite  play  of  mine, 
and  one  day  in  1898  I  suddenly  realized  what  a  variety 
of  tone  work  the  play  represented,  the  role  of  Hamlet 
alone  calling  for  the  widest  scope  in  the  use  of  the  speak- 
ing voice.  Accordingly  I  planned  and  gave  a  recital  of 
the  play  with  nine  Hamlets  and  three  Ophelias,  selecting 
the  voices  with  special  reference  to  their  adaptability  to 
the  various  scenes,  each  Hamlet  leaving  the  stage  as  his 
scene  Was  completed,  and  another  Hamlet  taking  up  the 
next  scene — and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  play. 

The  first  Ophelia  gave  the  farewell  scene  with  Laertes 
as  Laertes  is  leaving  for  France;  the  second  gave  the 
scene  between  Ophelia  and  Hamlet,  ending  with  Ophelia's 
speech  "Oh,  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown" !  To 
the  third  was  given  the  mad  scene  where  Ophelia 
pathetically  chants  fragmentary  and  wandering  thoughts 
regarding  her  father's  death,  and  takes  leave  of  the 
Queen  and  her  brother  as  she  goes  out  to  drown  her- 
self. Sarah  Truax,  who  had  been  given  these  particular 
scenes,  was  studying  with  an  Italian  singing  teacher  at  the 
time,  who  advised  her  that  this  was  too  good  an  oppor- 
tunity to  display  her  singing  quality  not  to  be  taken  ad 


My  Chicago  51 

vantage  of.  Accordingly,  to  my  consternation,  when  she 
came  upon  the  stage  she  proceeded  to  sing  in  genuine 
Italian  operatic  style.  When  the  distressing  scene  was 
finished  I  rushed  to  the  dressing  room  madly  exclaiming, 
"You  have  ruined  my  play!"  It  is  needless  to  add  that 
our  professional  relations  came  to  an  end  then  and  there. 

Burton  Holmes  took  some  lessons  in  voice  culture  in 
the  Conservatory  before  starting  out  on  his  career  as  a 
lecturer,  and  gave  his  first  talk  in  Recital  Hall,  at  which 
all  his  neighbors  and  friends  congregated.  Mrs.  H.  O. 
Stone  declared  it  to  be  the  best  lecture  she  had  ever 
listened  to  up  to  that  time.  He  scoffed  at  the  idea  of 
ever  being  classed  with  Stoddard,  yet  he  has  far  out- 
distanced Stoddard  in  the  extent  of  his  lectures,  the  sub- 
jects treated,  and  their  numbers. 

An  interesting  event  in  the  days  of  the  Conservatory 
in  the  Auditorium  was  a  visit  from  Patti,  who  attended 
one  of  our  matinees.  A  little  one-act  play  called  "Fast 
Friends"  proved  so  attractive  to  her  that  she  invited  one 
of  the  girls  to  accompany  her  to  her  home  in  Wales  that 
she  might  rehearse  the  play  there  and  present  it  to  her 
friends.  Of  course  the  girl  accepted  the  invitation. 


Chapter  Five 

N  1897  a  young  woman  appeared  in  my 
studios.  She  said  she  was  from  Galesburg, 
Illinois,  a  teacher  in  one  of  the  high  schools 
there,  and  added  that  her  name  was  Harriet 
Blackstone  and  that  she  wished  to  take  some 
lessons;  Quickly  discovering  her  talent  for  charteriza- 
tion,  I  advised  her  to  make  a  special  study  of  Riley's 
boys,  which  she  did  and  in  which  she  was  successful. 
She  continued  to  come  up  now  and  then  from  Galesburg 


52  My  Chicago 

and  continue  her  work  with  me,  then  disappeared  for  two 
or  three  years  during  which  she  studied  painting  in  Brook- 
lyn and  New  York.  One  day  she  reappeared  in  my 
studios  exclaiming, 

"Miss  Morgan,  I  am  here  to  stay.  All  my  earthly 
possessions  including  my  mother  are  here,  and  I  have 
taken  an  apartment  near  you  on  Lake  avenue." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  inquired. 

"Paint  portraits"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

I  smiled,  though  my  heart  sank  at  the  thought  of  it, 
but  she  knew  what  she  was  about,  and  went  at  it  in  the 
spirit  of  certainty  she  had  derived  from  her  New  Eng- 
land ancestry.  And  she  was  right.  Her  first  order  was 
to  paint  Ottilie  Liljencrantz,  a  young  author  whose  un- 
timely death  was  a  grief  to  all  who  knew  her.  Next  came 
a  commission  to  paint  Judge  Ewing.  Then  she  moved 
to  Glencoe,  where  she  executed  enough  orders  to  enable 
her  to  build  a  charming  bungalow  and  later  on  a  studio. 
Miss  Blackstone  has  been  an  industrious  and  painstaking 
worker,  and  for  some  years  has  been  recognized  as  one 
of  our  best  portrait  artists.  I  arranged  the  composi- 
tion for  the  portrait  which  she  painted  of  me,  a  reproduc- 
tion of  which  appears  in  this  book.  When  she  entered 
the  room  and  took  in  my  scheme  for  the  picture  she  ex- 
claimed, 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  paint  that — well,  if  I  don't  I'm  a 
fool,  if  I  do  I'm  a  good  one."  And  she  was — a  good 
one. 

Ottilie  Liljencrantz,  whom  I  have  just  mentioned,  was 
a  pupil  of  mine  for  several  seasons,  an  attractive  young 
woman  with  a  mind  unusually  endowed.  She  had  a  vivid 
fancy  and  a  true  sense  of  proportion,  she  seemed  to  have 
been  set  apart  for  a  career  in  literature,  and  in  this  I 
believe  she  would  have  won  distinction.  She  was  under 
twenty-five  when  she  was  called  away,  yet  voung  as  she 
was  she  had  written  one  book  that  would  have  done 


e  -Si 
•  2   b- 

"* 


*• 


My  Chicago  53 

credit  to  an  older  head  and  much  longer  experience.  I 
mean  her  story  "The  Thrall  of  Leif  the  Lucky,"  really 
a  noble  book,  rich  not  only  in  imagination  but  in  his- 
torical knowledge  of  the  Norse  settlements  upon  the  coast 
of  Greenland  a  thousand  years  ago.  The  book  had  im- 
mediate success.  It  appeared  about  1903,  and  the  best 
evidence  of  its  value  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  still  is  selling. 

During  that  season  I  gave  a  series  of  dramatic  mati- 
nees in  Recital  Hall  of  the  Auditorium,  presenting  in 
addition  to  various  recitations,  monologues  and  duo- 
logues, two  one-act  plays  each  week,  thus  affording 
valuable  practice  for  professional  members  of  my  classes 
who  were  able  to  test  their  ability  before  an  audience 
of  five  hundred.  These  recitals  were  supplemented  by  a 
series  of  noon  Shakespearean  programs. 

I  recall  that  Prof.  David  Swing  was  present  at  one  of 
the  afternoon  recitals  when  a  sketch  I  had  adapted  from 
Anthony  Hope  was  given  under  the  title  "Nature  and 
Philosophy."  A  young  girl  (Nature)  endeavors  to  draw 
out  a  confession  of  love  from  a  hyper-intellectual  pro- 
fessor (Philosophy).  The  Professor  is  much  engaged 
in  research  of  some  kind  when  she  obtrudes  herself  upon 
his  time  and  attention,  and  presents  the  case  of  a  girl 
having  two  lovers,  which  he  takes  down  in  legal  form 
under  the  titles  of  A  and  B.  They  have  a  long  scene  in 
which  he  remains  obtuse  to  her  intimations  of  admira- 
tion for  him,  until  finally  in  despair  she  takes  her  de- 
parture. After  some  minutes  the  Professor  looks  at  his 
watch,  exclaims, 

"Good  gracious!  Two  o'clock.  I  shall  be  late  for 
lunch!"  (Rises  with  books  and  eyeglasses  in  hand,  takes 
a  few  steps,  pauses,  speaks.)  "Rather  an  interesting 
story,  that  of  Miss  May's.  I  wonder  which  she'll  marry, 
A  or  B." 

It  has  always  been  pleasant  to  know  that  the  last  time 
Professor  Swing  entertained  a  caller  at  his  Lake  Shore 


54  My  Chicago 

home,  a  few  days  before  his  death,  as  he  stood  looking 
out  over  the  lake  he  nodded  his  head,  up  and  down,  and 
quoted  from  the  play:  "I  wonder  which  she'll  marry,  A 
or  B." 

In  1898  a  very  effeminate  looking  blond  young  man 
appeared  at  the  Conservatory  offices  one  day  and  en- 
gaged twenty  private  lessons.  When  I  inquired  what  he 
wished  to  take  up  he  replied  that  he  desired  to  take  the 
entire  twenty  lessons  on  the  grave  digging  scene  from 
"Hamlet"  with  which  he  proposed  entering  a  public 
speaking  contest  at  Northwestern  University,  Evanston. 

He  seemed  so  sanguine  of  his  ability  to  succeed  if 
given  a  chance  that  I  began  the  lessons,  with  the  result 
that  I  gave  him  the  opportunity  to  appear  in  one  of  my 
noon  Shakespearean  recitals,  which  he  did  with  credit 
both  to  himself  and  me.  The  contest  resulted  in  the 
prize  being  equally  divided  between  him  and  a  young 
man  who  was  quite  famed  for  his  rhetorical  powers  and 
a  great  favorite  with  the  audience.  The  adage  "Nothing 
ventured,  nothing  gained"  was  in  his  case  illustrated. 

Another  similar  case  occurs  to  me :  A  young  woman 
not  at  all  prepossessing  in  appearance  came  in  one  day 
and  said  she  wished  to  take  up  a  two  years'  course  of 
study,  after  which  she  proposed  to  go  before  the  public 
as  a  platform  entertainer.  I  was  inclined  to  doubt  the 
possibility  of  her  success,  but  she  was  confident.  A  few 
months  after  her  graduation  a  man  came  to  my  office 
and  asked  to  see  me.  He  said  he  was  looking  for  a  reader 
for  Lyceum  work  in  connection  with  a  concert  company. 
I  telephoned  this  young  woman,  who  fortunately  was 
able  to  get  to  the  studios  in  less  than  half  an  hour.  The 
man  heard  her,  and  engaged  her  then  and  there.  She 
traveled  with  his  company  for  two  years,  then  organized 
a  company  of  her  own,  and  for  years  made  successful 
trips  from  Maine  to  Oregon,  and  finally  made  a  profes- 
sional trip  to  China.  Her  name  was  Emily  Waterman. 


My  Chicago  55 

The  World's  Columbian  Exposition  in  1893  was 
chiefly  distinguished  to  the  intellectual  people  of  all  coun- 
tries by  a  series  of  congresses  and  conventions — philo- 
sophical, poetical,  artistic  and  educational.  With  one  of 
these  gatherings  I  was  personally  concerned.  This  was 
a  convention  of  Elocutionists.  Elocution  had  flourished 
amazingly  during  twenty  or  more  preceding  years.  It 
had  its  professors,  and  the  professors  their  followers,  all 
of  whom  took  it  and  themselves  seriously.  It  was  sup- 
posed to  be  an  art,  where  as  we  know  now  it  was  only  a 
manifestation  of  an  attribute  of  an  art.  The  Exposition 
found  it  at  its  apogee.  Thereafter  it  declined  in  a  manner 
reminiscent  of  what  Mr.  Wegg  described  as  "The  Rise 
and  Fall  Off  the  Rooshan  Empire."  Today  the  wonder 
is  that  any  of  its  professors  ever  were  regarded  as  ponti- 
fical; and  for  its  followers  and  their  performances,  "the 
winds  have  blown  them  all  away." 

As  a  part  of  my  system  of  teaching  I  had  been  obliged 
to  concede  a  place  to  it;  and  because  I  was  at  the  head 
of  a  great  school  in  Chicago,  these  Elocution  people  de- 
pended upon  me  for  help.  My  friend  Eugene  Field  was 
the  most  widely  known  poet  then  residing  here.  He 
had  been  doing  considerable  platform  work,  principally 
concerned  with  his  own  verses,  and  in  that  way  had 
acquired  wide  personal  popularity.  I  called  on  Melville 
E.  Stone,  who  as  editor  of  The  Daily  News  had  been 
instrumental  in  bringing  Gene  to  Chicago.  Mr.  Stone 
had  become  general  manager  of  the  Associated  Press,  and 
I  wanted  him  to  give  the  convention  publicity  in  con- 
nection with  Gene's  appearance.  I  thought  I  would  better 
do  that  before  approaching  Gene  himself.  Mr.  Stone 
threw  his  hands  in  the  air  and  cried  out  to  me. 

"Oh  Anna!  an  elocutionists'  convention!  The  boys 
will  have  the  time  of  their  lives  with  it!" 

And  then  he  laughed  and  laughed,  but  finally  he  agreed 
to  do  what  he  could.  Then  I  went  after  Gene  and  landed 


56  My  Chicago 

him  on  condition  that  he  would  neither  be  asked  to  re- 
cite nor  be  recited  at. 

On  the  evening  of  the  event  Gene  was  the  first  arrival; 
he  whispered  to  me, 

"I  will  recite  if  you  want  me  to." 

When  he  was  due  for  his  turn,  I  asked  Mr.  Stone  to 
introduce  him.  Mr.  Stone  agreed,  mounted  a  chair,  and 
said, 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  Mr.  Eugene  Field  has  de- 
clared his  intention  to  recite.  If  you  will  kindly  wait 
'til  I  get  out  of  the  building,  I  shall  be  much  obliged." 

Some  of  the  visitors  who  did  not  know  the  relation- 
ship existing  between  the  men  were  somewhat  shocked 
but  were  soon  engrossed  in  the  retorting  wit  and  original 
recitations  of  Mr.  Field.  No  one  present  can  ever  for- 
get the  humor  of  "The  Conversazzhyony,"  "Casey's 
Table  d'Hote"  or  the  pathos  of  "Long  Ago"  and  "Little 
Boy  Blue." 

Few  of  us  have  ever  been  privileged  to  know  another 
personality  so  winsome,  so  whimsical,  so  sincere  as  Eu- 
gene Field.  Few  of  those  who  did  know  him  have  ever 
given  him  the  place  and  rating  that  truly  belong  to  him. 
He  was  widely  esteemed  as  a  poet  of  childhood,  the 
I  children's  poet.  It  was  an  error  to  adjudge  him  so.  He 
I  wrote  wonderfully  beautiful  and  touching  poems  about 
;  children,  but  not  for  children.  His  poems  of  childhood 
were  written  for  grown  ups.  Take  for  example  the  poem 
of  "The  Lyttel  Boy."  No  mother  or  father  who  has  lost 
a  child  can  read  that  poem  without  tears.  Indeed  I  doubt 
whether  any  normally  constituted  adult  could  read  it  and 
not  be  deeply  and  tenderly  touched.  But  to  no  child 
did  it  or  could  it  have  any  meaning.  The  same  thing 
is  true  of  all  that  group  of  poems  the  center  and  jewel 
of  which  is,  "Little  Boy  Blue."  To  his  closer  friends  he 
made  no  pretense  of  anything  else.  In  fact  he  held  but 
slight  estimate  of  any  of  his  work.  It  was  not  easy  to 


My  Chicago  57 

get  him  to  talk  of  it.  He  has  been  known  to  admit  with 
candor  that  he  liked  to  make  the  women  boo  hoo.  It  is 
true  he  was  a  lover  of  children,  even  of  his  own,  but 
his  sense  of  being  an  affectionate  father,  indulgent  and 
devoted,  sometimes  took  on  strange  forms.  It  was  his 
joke  once  when  he  got  home  around  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning  after  his  work  on  the  paper  was  done,  to  go  up 
stairs  and  rout  the  children  out  of  bed  with  the  exciting 
information  that  they  might  find  a  great  big  candy  mine 
in  the  dining  room;  and  when  they  had  whooped  and 
tumbled  down  the  stairway  to  overturn  all  the  furniture 
in  a  search  for  that  nonexistent  treasure,  he  would  go 
to  his  own  room,  close  the  door,  and  quietly  go  to  bed. 
It  was  on  some  such  occasion  that  the  children  got  even 
with  him.  A  man  who  has  been  up  and  working  until 
two  o'clock  or  thereabout  may  be  understood  to  have 
need  of  rest.  The  whole  troupe  stole  upstairs  on  such  a 
night,  and  pounded  on  his  door,  one  at  a  time,  and  scuttled 
off  giggling,  and  finally  came  back  and  went  in  and  dis- 
turbed him,  also  one  at  a  time,  until  he  got  tired  of  it — 
and  arose  and  drove  them  forth  with  a  great  simulation 
of  wrath.  Then  he  returned  to  his  pillow  and  was  slip- 
ping away  to  dreamland  when  the  littlest  boy  softly  pushed 
the  door  wide  open  and  stood  there  in  his  little  white 
night  shirt  and  spoke  at  the  top  of  his  dear  little  voice, 
and  said, 

"Wats  you  terrior;  mice,  you  pup;  turn  in  to  the  alley, 
I'll  do  you  up!" 

He  gave  up,  and  got  up  and  played  with  them  at  their 
rough  little  games  until  he  wore  them  out.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  he  had  to  be  at  the  office  by  ten  o'clock  that 
morning;  and  he  complained  bitterly  to  Mr.  Stone  of 
the  miseries  of  a  man  whose  family  would  not  let  him 
sleep. 

An  interesting  dramatic  event  connected  with  the 
World's  Columbian  Exposition  in  1893  was  the  presenta- 


'58  My  Chicago 

tion  by  the  Augustin  Daly  Company  on  June  3Oth  of  a 
pastoral  performance  of  "As  You  Like  It"  on  the 
grounds  of  Fairlawn,  the  home  of  Mr.  Charles  B.  Farwell 
at  Lake  Forest,  in  aid  of  the  Children's  Home  of  the  Ex- 
position. Interesting  as  the  whole  occasion  was  atten- 
tion was  largely  centered  upon  Mrs.  Chatfield-Taylor, 
then  a  bride,  who  received  the  guests  as  they  alighted 
from  their  carnages,  standing  under  the  spreading 
branches  of  an  elm  tree,  wearing  a  muslin  gown  with  a 
blue  sash  and  a  wide  leghorn  hat,  a  veritable  American 
Beauty  "Rose." 

In  June,  1899,  I  went  on  a  visit  to  New  York  and  upon 
/  my  return  found  matters  in  the  Conservatory  in  a  chaotic 
;  condition,  so  much  so  that  it  seemed  expedient  that  I 
should  set  out  on  an  independent  venture  which  I  had 
seriously  considered  doing  for  some  time.  In  taking 
leave  of  the  Conservatory  I  wish  to  express  my  appre- 
ciation of  the  opportunities  it  offered  me  in  working  out 
my  plans,  in  those  beginning  years  of  my  professional 
career.  If  I  brought  youth,  enthusiasm  and  ability  which 
helped  to  make  it  distinctive,  it  generously  supported 
my  endeavors;  and  so  the  connection  was  of  common 
benefit. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  any  similar  school  has  ever  been 
so  splendidly  equipped  both  in  the  corps  of  distinguished 
and  efficient  teachers  and  in  its  artistic  and  adequate  en- 
vironment attracting  discriminating  and  professional  stu- 
dents from  the  east  as  well  as  the  west.  Mr.  Kayzer,  its 
founder,  was  a  man  of  rare  good  taste  both  in  music  and 
dramatic  art,  but  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  had 
Mr.  Lyman  B.  Glover  and  Mr.  John  B.  Wilkie  asso- 
ciated with  him  as  managers,  from  time  to  time  the  very 
large  salaries  demanded  and  paid  many  of  the  instruc- 
tors, together  with  other  large  expenses,  made  it  impossi- 
ble for  a  school  not  endowed  to  stand  the  financial  strain. 


My  Chicago  59 

In  consequence  Mr.  Kayzer  gave  up  the  school  and  trans- 
fered  his  activities  to  New  York,  where  he  continues 
them. 

Chapter  Six 

HE  severance  of  my  long  connection  with  the 
Conservatory  came  so  suddenly  and  so  com- 
pletely that  I  was  wholly  unprepared  for  the 
change.  It  was  really  a  trying  hour  for  me. 
I  had  to  decide  for  myself  what  I  should 
do.  I  walked  through  Van  Buren  street,  and  as  I  reached 
the  corner  of  Michigan  avenue  I  suddenly  determined 
to  go  into  the  Studebaker  building.  I  had  heard  it  was 
being  fitted  up  for  studios.  It  has  since  been  known  as 
The  Fine  Arts  Building.  There  I  met  for  the  first  time, 
although  we  had  been  workers  side  by  side  for  many 
years,  Mr.  Charles  C.  Curtiss,  who  had  undertaken  to 
open  and  direct  this  temple  of  art.  When  I  explained 
to  him  the  state  of  affairs  and  that  I  thought  I  ought  to 
go  to  New  York,  I  remember  he  said,  "We  want  you 
right  here,  Miss  Morgan,"  whereupon  he  proceeded  to 
mark  off  the  space  he  thought  I  ought  to  have  on  the 
eighth  floor.  I  summoned  my  architect  friend  Irving  K. 
Pond  to  the  conference.  Mr.  Pond  at  once  offered  valu- 
able advice  and  suggested  plans,  and  I  all  at  once  found 
myself  embarked  upon  an  independent  enterprise. 

I  can  still  see  my  friends  Mrs.  Peattie  and  Mr.  Fuller, 
who  came  in  to  look  over  the  ground,  standing  in  one  of 
the  windows  and  shaking  their  heads  dubiously  at  what 
seemed  too  great  a  venture — it  was  then  late  in  the  sum- 
mer for  securing  students  for  that  year. 

But  I  proceeded  to  sit  down  and  write  a  catalogue  an- 
nouncing the  founding  of  "The  Anna  Morgan  Studios," 
Miss  Jessie  Harding,  assistant  teacher,  and  called  up 


60  My  Chicago 

Donnelley's  printing  office.  Ben  Donnelley  answered  the 
telephone.  I  said, 

"Ben,  I'm  starting  a  new  school;  I  haven't  any  money, 
but  if  I  live  you'll  get  your  pay.  Do  you  wish  to  do  my 
printing?" 

The  reply  came,  "You  bet  we  do,"  and  the  catalogues 
were  printed  and  mailed. 

In  the  meantime  the  Studios  were  built  and  decorated. 
The  woodwork  was  black,  and  the  walls  were  covered 
with  a  grayish  purple  burlap,  and  altogether  they  pre- 
sented a  unique  and  distinctive  appearance.  In  fact  the 
entire  building  quickly  acquired  the  artistic  atmosphere 
which  Mr.  Curtiss  had  desired  and  worked  to  obtain. 

In  other  places,  especially  in  connection  with  the  art 
movements  that  led  to  the  erection  of  The  Art  Institute 
and  its  galleries  of  paintings,  I  have  mentioned  various 
localities  that  were  occupied  from  time  to  time  by  this 
or  the  other  group  of  artists  whose  affair  it  was  to  pro- 
mote or  deal  with  one  or  other  of  the  liberal  arts.  There 
is  an  aspect  of  the  resultant  situation  apart  from  that 
presented  by  the  Art  Institute  itself.  A  little  later  I  will 
deal  with  the  first  effort  to  set  up  a  permanent  local 
center  of  art  interests  at  the  Auditorium;  but  for  the 
present  purpose  I  consider  it  more  pertinent  to  the  main 
issue  to  describe  the  real  consummation  of  that  desire  in 
the  present  Fine  Arts  Building. 

About  the  year  1889  Charles  C.  Curtiss,  becoming 
aware  of  the  insufficient  work  done  up  to  that  time,  took 
it  upon  himself  to  bring  into  concrete  form  the  distinct 
elements  of  a  generally  necessary  purpose,  and  formulated 
the  plan  of  a  building  sufficiently  commodious,  and  per- 
fectly located,  which  might  house  and  become  a  focal 
point  of  all  these  interests.  After  a  somewhat  difficult 
negotiation  he  got  possession  of  a  part  of  the  Studebaker 
property  facing  Michigan  avenue;  then  had  plans  drawn 
for  The  Fine  Arts  Building,  and  with  admirable  tenacity 


My .  Chicago 

took  hold  of  and  carried  through  the  financial  organiza- 
tion necessary  to  the  end  in  view.  Everyone  now  knows 
his  ideas  were  sound.  The  intermediate  years,  in  which 
so  many  other  related  things  have  shifted  and  changed  so 
often,  have  left  his  architectural  and  other  subordinate 
ideas  just  as  they  were  the  day  the  building  was  thrown 
open  for  occupancy.  This  dignified  and  worthy  enter- 
prise could  not  have  been  carried  to  completion  by  any 
man  of  less  repute  in  matters  involving  foresight,  and 
probity  of  character.  His  own  knowledge  of  art  was 
based  not  so  much  upon  schooling  as  upon  native  good 
taste  and  clear  intuition.  His  reputation  for  integrity 
and  his  peculiar  ability  to  deal  with  all  sorts  of  men  made 
his  achievement  one  of  comparative  ease.  He  has  been 
in  charge  of  the  property  from  the  first,  and  has  managed 
it  with  admirable  skill. 

In  the  beginning  years  of  The  Fine  Arts  Building 
there  was  a  blending  of  the  social  with  the  artistic  life 
in  the  studios  that  was  truly  delightful.  We  were  all 
prosperous,  with  plenty  of  work  to  do,  yet  somehow  there 
seemed  to  be  time  to  exchange  visits  with  our  co-workers 
and  take  an  active  interest  in  the  work  which  each  was 
doing.  Visitors  were  frequent;  almost  any  day  we  were 
sure  to  see  a  group  of  Chicago  friends  who  were  enter- 
taining out-of-town  guests  by  bringing  them  to  The  Fine 
Arts  Building  and  its  attractive  studios.  It  was  a  show 
place  in  the  town,  a  rendezvous  where  you  were  sure  to 
see  interesting  people.  The  samovar  was  in  daily  service 
between  the  hours  of  four  and  seven,  and  for  a  few 
years  it  was  almost  a  continuous  party.  On  my  floor, 
in  addition  to  The  Fortnightly,  John  McCutcheon  was 
domiciled  during  the  first  years  he  was  in  Chicago. 
John  was  a  good  neighbor,  and  of  course  a  most  interest- 
ing one  to  my  patrons  and  my  visitors.  Meeting  him 
in  passing  was  an  event  in  the  day  to  the  men  as  well 
as  to  the  women  who  traversed  the  eighth  floor  in  the 


My  Chicago 

early  nineteen-hundreds.  After  a  time  John  moved  to 
the  tenth  floor,  which  was  exclusively  an  artists'  colony. 
There  he  had  for  neighbors  Lorado  Taft,  Charles  Francis 
Browne,  Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour  and  the  Alderbrink 
Press,  Herman  MacNeil,  Frank  and  Joe  Leyendecker, 
Blanche  Ostertag,  Ralph  Clarkson,  George  Ade,  The  Rose 
Bindery  (founded  by  and  presided  over  by  Mrs.  Chat- 
field  Taylor) ,  and  many  other  wellknown  artists.  Most 
of  the  occupants  of  this  floor  constituted  the  artists' 
colony  who  had  their  summer  camp  at  Oregon.  Many 
of  them  are  still  there.  Not  only  afternoon  teas  but 
night  spreads,  generally  in  the  Browne  studio,  were  of 
weekly  occurrence,  the  company  being  augmented  by  a 
privileged  few  from  the  outside,  with  an  occasional  out- 
of-town  visitor.  There  was  an  informality,  a  comrade- 
ship that  is  sweet  to  remember.  Passing  years  and 
changed  conditions  have  transferred  those  happy  meet- 
ings to  other  places.  The  circle  has  been  broken;  many 
have  gone  away  to  other  art  centers.  In  addition  to  The 
Little  Room,  The  Arts  Club  and  The  Cordon  have 
come  in  to  claim  a  share  in  the  social  life  of  the  building, 
and  to  provide  for  the  greatly  increased  number  now 
affiliated  in  artistic  endeavor. 

The  Woman's  Club  has  maintained  its  roomy  and 
hospitable  quarters  on  the  ninth  floor  and  has  not  only 
increased  in  numbers  but  in  the  range  of  its  activities 
and  influence  in  both  educational  and  civic  movements, 
and  has  contributed  in  many  ways  to  bringing  Chicago  up 
to  a  level  with  her  eastern  sisters. 

Opposite  the  Woman's  Club  on  the  ninth  floor  was 
located  the  studio  of  Mrs.  Milward  Adams.  Mrs. 
Adams  and  I  began  our  work  as  teachers  in  Chicago 
almost  simultaneously,  working  side  by  side  for  about 
twenty-six  years.  It  is  my  privilege  to  record  this  tribute 
to  her  memory: 

Miss  Florence  James  of  Keokuk  became  the  wife  of 


My  Chicago  63 

Milward  Adams  on  August  23,  1883.  It  was  at  the  time 
when  the  Delsarte  theory  of  expression  had  suddenly 
sprung  into  notice,  and  Mrs.  Adams  had  benefited  by 
training  in  the  east,  especially  with  Steele  MacKaye. 
Aside  from  Mrs.  Adams'  acquired  equipment  for  her 
chosen  profession,  she  was  possessed  of  a  unique  per- 
sonality, an  alert  and  subtle  mind,  and  an  especial  gift 
for  impressing  the  importance  of  her  work  upon  the 
community.  That  it  was  the  psychological  moment  for 
full  fruition  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Adams  was  manager  of  the  Auditorium  gave  her 
unusual  opportunities  to  come  in  contact  not  only  with 
the  great  artists  who  constantly  visited  Chicago,  but  the 
public  as  well.  This  made  the  advantage  a  reciprocal 
one,  and  certainly  provided  a  helpful  environment.  Un- 
fortunately Mrs.  Adams  died  in  1910,  deeply  regretted 
by  hosts  of  friends  the  world  over,  a  few  of  whom  at- 
tested their  devotion  and  love  for  her  by  placing  a  *. 
memorial  statue  in  the  Art  Institute,  and  endowing  the 
University  of  Chicago  with  a  permanent  scholarship  in 
her  name. 

Ferdinand  W.  Peck  had  preceded  Mr.  Curtiss  in  the 
matter  of  time  and  with  a  large  but  different  idea,  in 
which  the  art  feature  was  a  detail.  Mr.  Peck  like  his 
father  before  him  was  a  large  figure  in  the  financial 
affairs  of  the  city.  But  when  upon  his  father's  death  he 
became  the  head  of  the  family  and  had  a  large  fortune  at 
his  control,  he  faced  at  once  toward  the  higher  things  in 
the  life  of  the  city,  the  things  that  were  to  shape  and 
develop  so  much  of  the  best  in  its  future.  He  had  been 
active  in  bringing  about  that  memorable  season  of  opera 
in  the  old  exposition  building  about  1885.  Adelina 
Patti  and  some  of  the  finest  voices  of  that  time,  sup- 
ported by  a  gigantic  orchestra,  poured  out  the  best  of  all 
the  great  works  to  audiences  of  ten  thousand  people. 
One  of  the  most  earnest  if  not  the  most  able  apostles  of 


64  My  Chicago 

music  then  administering  culture  to  Cook  County  and  its 
inhabitants  was  a  soulful  eyed  individual  bearing  up  most 
nobly  under  the  name  of  Silas  G.  Pratt,  a  name  suggesting 
less  music  than  his  preceptorship  conferred  upon  those 
who  were  so  fortunate  as  to  be  his  acolytes.  Mr.  Pratt 
was  in  the  spotlight,  whenever  it  wobbled,  during  all 
those  memorable  performances;  and  at  their  end  pro- 
ceeding to  have  an  idea. 

This  idea  was  stately.  It  included  a  vast  temple,  prob- 
ably to  be  erected  by  the  power  of  some  such  decree  as 
produced  in  Xanadu  the  wondrous  pleasure  building  of 
Kubla  Khan — the  source  of  funds  immeasurable  to  man 
but  necessary  to  the  project  being  no  affair  of  his  to 
bother  about.  That  was  a  detail  to  be  dealt  with  by 
men  of  money.  Logically,  in  the  circumstances  Mr.  Peck 
was  such  a  man;  wherefore  he  hied  him  to  Mr.  Peck 
and  revealed  his  plan.  Mr.  Peck  was  an  excellent  man 
of  business.  He  did  not  care  for  Mr.  Pratt's  bold  propo- 
sition in  its  entirety,  but  he  caught  the  main  point  and  set 
himself  about  the  business  of  creating  a  great  hotel,  the 
biggest  theatre  in  America,  and  an  office  structure,  all 
three  included,  as  a  unit,  in  a  single  real  estate  operation. 
The  result  was  the  Auditorium,  the  hotel  facing  Michi- 
gan avenue,  the  Auditorium  theatre  with  its  main  en- 
trance facing  Congress  street,  and  the  Auditorium  build- 
ing for  offices  facing  Wabash  avenue.  It  was  a  great 
undertaking,  so  cleverly  devised  that  its  financial  returns 
would  be  large.  Unhappily  this  last  expectation  has  not 
always  been  realized,  but  the  project  itself  as  a  whole 
became  famous,  the  theatre  has  ever  since  housed  the 
great  opera  companies  that  have  sung  here,  and  the  office 
building  has  been  fairly  well  filled  all  the  time.  But 
while  the  intent  of  the  office  building  was  to  create  an 
art  center,  its  location  and  the  rapid  rise  and  demand 
for  business  space  in  that  locality  shouldered  the  artists 


My  Chicago  65 

out  of  that  domination  which  had  been  hoped  for.  This 
dereliction  gave  Mr.  Curtiss  his  cue. 

The  architect  of  the  Auditorium  had  already  estab- 
lished a  high  reputation.  He  was  Louis  Sullivan,  a  Chi- 
cago man  who  had  shown  sane  and  well  proportioned 
genius  in  several  instances.  The  complete  skill  and  the 
perfect  good  taste  he  manifested  in  the  case  of  the  Audi- 
torium put  him  at  once  in  the  very  first  rank  of  great 
American  architects.  His  subsequent  works  were  largely 
in  other  cities,  but  our  own  treasures  many  of  them.  He 
planned  the  Transportation  Building  at  the  World's  Fair, 
the  beauty  of  which  must  dwell  in  the  memory  of  all  who 
saw  it.  Architecture  in  itself  is  a  noble  art.  Mr.  Sulli- 
van, being  one  of  its  masters,  may  be  taken  as  standing 
forth  to  all  the  world  as  one  of  the  greatest  artists  Chi- 
cago has  produced. 

Let  me  take  occasion  here  to  speak  of  John  Wellborn 
Root  whose  creative  genius  as  an  architect  has  been  uni- 
versally conceded.  He  and  his  partner  Daniel  H.  Burn- 
ham  (who  is  mentioned  elsewhere)  were  appointed 
architects  in  chief  of  the  World's  Columbian  Exposition. 
Mr.  Root  had  wondrous  visions  which,  no  doubt,  would 
have  reached  full  fruition  had  he  lived.  Chicago  has 
always  fully  realized  the  great  loss  it  sustained  in 
Mr.  Root's  untimely  death  in  1891,  two  years  before  the 
opening  of  the  exposition. 

Mr.  Peck  has  done  much  more  than  create  the  Audi- 
torium group.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  and  later  the 
president  of  the  Illinois  Society,  and  has  been  vice  presi- 
dent of  the  Board  of  Education  and  president  of  the 
Union  League  Club.  He  was  one  of  the  commissioners 
sent  by  our  government  to  Paris  in  behalf  of  and  pre- 
ceding the  World's  Columbian  Exposition,  and  in  1900 
was  appointed  by  President  McKinley  to  be  United  States 
Commissioner  at  the  Paris  Exposition  of  that  year.  As 
a  matter  of  local  history  I  am  reminded  that  the  national 


My  Chicago 

convention  which  nominated  President  Harrison  was  held 
in  the  Auditorium  Theatre  in  1888,  a  year  or  two  before 
the  building  was  finished.  It  had  to  be  temporarily  fitted 
up  for  that  purpose.  It  was  the  only  hall  in  town  big 
enough  to  hold  such  a  gathering,  and  it  served  its  pur- 
pose admirably. 

The  dedication  occurred  December  ninth,  1889,  and 
was  celebrated  on  the  scale  of  a  national  event.  Presi- 
dent Harrison  and  Vice  President  Morton,  governors  of 
several  states,  and  Canadian  officials,  as  well  as  many 
men  and  women  of  distinction  from  all  over  the  country, 
were  in  attendance.  Harriet  Monroe  wrote  a  Festival 
Ode,  which  was  set  to  music  by  Frederick  Grant  Gleason, 
one  of  our  most  scholarly  musicians  and  most  accom- 
plished men  we  ever  had  among  us.  The  music  was  in 
the  form  of  a  symphonic  cantata  and  was  sung  by  the 
Apollo  Club,  supported  by  a  large  orchestra.  The  Apollo 
Club  gave  several  other  numbers.  The  climax  of  the 
program  was  furnished  by  Mme.  Patti,  who  sang  "Home, 
Sweet  Home,"  and  for  an  encore  the  "Swiss  Echo  Song" 
of  which  she  was  so  fond. 

For  the  opera  season  which  followed  the  dedication 
Franklin  H.  Head  auctioned  off  the  boxes  and  cajoled 
George  M.  Pullman,  Marshall  Field,  R.  T.  Crane  and 
other  men  of  civic  pride  into  paying  from  seven  hundred 
to  sixteen  hundred  dollars  as  premiums  for  choice,  George 
M.  Pullman  paying  sixteen  hundred  for  first  choice  and 
Walter  L.  Peck  eight  hundred  for  twelfth  choice. 

In  that  opening  season  I  recall  Patti,  Albani,  Signer 
Perugini,  Signer  Del  Puente,  and  Signor  Tamagno.  Since 
then  we  have  heard  Emma  Eames,  Sembrich,  Nordica, 
Gerster,  the  De  Reszkes  and  of  recent  times  Caruso, 
Muratore,  Mary  Garden  and  Galli  Curci,  who  in  less 
than  one  year  has  taken  her  place  at  the  head  of  women 
singers  of  opera,  Patti  not  excepted.  As  for  Mary 
Garden,  she  stands  in  a  class  distinctly  by  herself,  unap- 


My  Chicago  67 

preached  by  any  artist  in  individuality  and  the  special 
tone  work  which  is  called  for  in  the  operas  in  which  she 
appears.  There  is  an  aloofness  about  her  that  lifts  her 
hearers  above  their  surroundings  into  the  realms  of  crea- 
tive expression,  which  is  as  charming  as  it  is  wonderful. 
Those  persons,  and  there  are  many  of  them,  who  measure 
every  new  work  of  art  by  tradition  and  are  not  satisfied 
unless  they  see  and  hear  what  they  have  always  seen  and 
heard,  do  not  appreciate  Miss  Garden  and  never  will  be 
able  to  understand  her,  more's  the  pity.  Personally  I 
have  never  had  such  joy  as  she  has  given  me,  since  the 
advent  of  Henry  Irving,  whose  performance  of  Hamlet 
swept  aside  the  traditions  by  which  the  stage  had  been 
burdened,  giving  us  new  readings  and  new  stage  business. 


Chapter  Seven 

OR  two  or  three  years  before  I  came  into  the 
Fine  Arts  Building  I  used  frequently  to  walk 
past  the  old  Armory  building  (later  replaced 
by  the  Illinois  Theatre)  which  for  some  time 
stood  vacant,  and  longed  to  take  possession 
and  convert  it  into  a  theatre  for  the  production  of  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare  in  a  modern  and  artistic  manner. 
My  idea  must  have  been  similar  to  Rheinhart's,  the  dif- 
ference being  that  he  not  only  dreamed  about  it,  but  made 
his  dream  an  actuality.  At  that  time  my  presentations  of 
the  plays  of  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck,  Yeats  and  other  drama- 
tists had  made  a  distinct  impression  and  I  imagined  that 
some  of  my  admirers  would  come  forward  and  offer 
the  money  with  which  to  provide  an  artistic  playhouse. 
Time  went  on  and  the  money  did  not  come — and  I  did 
not  ask  for  it.  When  I  went  into  the  Fine  Arts  Build- 
ing I  determined  to  abandon  the  giving  of  plays  alto- 


68  My  Chicago 

gether  and  confine  my  efforts  to  educational  and  cul- 
tural work,  the  development  of  the  speaking  voice,  inter- 
pretative readings,  and  the  study  of  literature.  My 
reasons  were  that  I  was  not  properly  equipped  to  give 
plays  on  an  adequate  scale,  and  the  worry  and  bother  of 
trying  to  give  them  without  adequate  means  was  discour- 
aging. Another  reason  was,  the  constant  presentation 
of  plays  gave  the  public  the  impression  that  I  was  con- 
ducting a  preparatory  school  for  the  professional  stage. 

Of  course  I  know  now  that  my  digression  into  drama 
was  an  error.  It  was  prompted  by  a  strong  admiration 
of  the  glorious  literature  and  picturesque  vividity  of 
English  drama.  To  me  it  seemed  that  here  lay  the  best 
of  all  material  for  educational  uses.  That  prompting 
was  sound;  but  its  realization  would  have  involved  com- 
plete abandonment  of  the  field  I  had  so  successfully 
made  my  own,  and  an  occupation  of  other  fields  requir- 
ing managerial  skill  as  well  as  a  technical  knowledge  of 
stagecraft,  neither  of  which  I  possessed  in  full.  The 
ambition  to  present  Shakespeare  or  the  lesser  masters 
with  a  company  of  amateurs  carried  within  itself  the  ele- 
ments of  its  own  frustration.  Besides,  even  the  little 
I  did  toward  realizing  it  created  the  impression  that 
I  was  conducting  a  school  of  acting,  which  was  not  so, 
other  than  cultural  instruction  in  the  various  parts  of 
a  play  was  evolved. 

I  found  myself  perplexed  by  outside  comment  upon 
the  whole  thing.  Parents  of  my  pupils  became  uneasy 
lest  the  pupils  might  be  drawn  to  the  stage  as  a  career. 
Yet  with  the  natural  vanity  of  parenthood,  if  I  were 
going  to  produce  a  play  they  would  object  first  on  that 
ground  and  then  exhibit  acrid  disappointment  if  the 
principal  part  were  not  assigned  to  that  particular  pupil 
each  set  of  parents  owned.  Then  again,  when  parents 
asked  their  friends  about  me  they  got  one  of  two  answers : 
either  that  "Miss  Morgan  is  the  best  kind  of  a  teacher, 


My  Chicago  69 

but  she  can't  place  her  pupils  on  the  regular  stage,"  or 
else  "Miss  Morgan  is  one  of  the  best  dramatic  coaches 
and  can  always  find  a  professional  opening  for  her 
pupils."  In  this  situation,  to  use  a  current  phrase,  I  got 
it  both  ways,  going  and  coming,  and  I  do  not  know  which 
of  these  ways  was  worst  for  me.  In  retrospect  I  think 
that  each  seemed  considerably  worse  than  the  other. 

Anyway,  I  stopped  in  time  and  returned  on  my  own 
track  to  the  place  whence  I  had  started,  taking  back  with 
me  something  I  had  discovered  and  through  which  I  found 
an  advantage.  I  added  little  plays  to  my  course  of  in- 
struction, and  found  the  addition  good.  It  was  free  from 
the  friendly  objections  cited  above;  it  was  interesting 
and  informative  for  my  pupils,  and  pleasing  to  their 
parents  and  their  friends.  It  in  no  wise  disturbed  other 
studies,  but  on  the  contrary  gave  them  deeper  and  more 
permanent  values.  An  account  of  these  plays  I  have 
written  in  another  place  in  this  book. 

Consequently,  and  in  this  place,  I  am  going  to  take 
credit  to  myself  for  having  originated  and  carried  for- 
ward to  this  hour  with  unimpaired  success  the  "Little 
Theatre"  idea.  There  have  been  many  Little  Theatres 
here  and  elsewhere.  Most  of  these  have  been  meretrici- 
ous, faddy,  or  feeble.  Nearly  all  of  them  have  professed 
a  purpose  to  elevate  the  drama,  and  in  the  face  of  the 
plain  fact  that  the  drama  has  been  consistently  and 
steadily  elevating  itself,  have  been  plausible  enough  to 
extract  considerable  sums  of  money  from  perfectly  well- 
intentioned  people  who  were  entirely  unaware  of  that 
fact.  Practically  all  the  little  plays  produced  in  these 
little  theatres  might  be  described  as  half  baked,  lacking 
even  that  little  leaven  which  (on  apostolic  authority)  can 
leaven  a  whole  lump. 

I  can  and  should  except  two  instances,  the  work  done 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maurice  Browne  at  the  Chicago  Little 
Theatre  in  the  Fine  Arts  Building  for  several  seasons, 


7o  My  Chicago 

and  the  work  carried  out  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Arthur  Aldis 
in  the  artistic  little  theatre  on  the  Aldis  estate  at  Lake 
Forest.  Concerning  this  latter  I  cannot  do  better  than 
quote  Mrs.  Elia  W.  Peattie,  who  wrote  in  The  Chicago 
Tribune  that  "Mrs.  Arthur  Aldis  of  Lake  Forest  has 
long  been  an  interesting  figure  in  amateur  dramatic  and 
literary  circles.  With  leisure,  force  and  originality,  and 
free  from  all  the  compulsions  that  poverty  entails,  she 
was,  from  the  first,  in  the  happy  position  of  being  able  to 
choose  her  vocations  and  amusements.  She  could,  if 
she  liked,  coax  life  along  pleasantly  by  playing  golf,  go- 
ing to  teas,  giving  dinners,  and  sitting  in  a  box  at  the 
opera.  These  diversions  proving,  upon  trial,  not  par- 
ticularly satisfying,  she  paid  respectful  heed  to  certain 
stirrings  of  talent,  commanded  a  little  theatre  in  her 
garden,  and  in  it  gave  piquant,  grotesquely  tragic,  or 
capriciously  farcical  plays  of  the  most  modern  type.  Her 
actors  were  her  friends;  her  small,  critical  audiences  were 
also  her  friends.  Or  interchangeably,  her  friends  were 
actors  and  audience.  It  was  immensely  interesting,  and 
not  infrequently  the  actors  surprised  themselves  by  the 
excellence  of  what  they  did.  Ambitious,  erratic  young 
playwrights  found  here  an  opening  for  their  abilities. 
Young  ladies  who  had  been  doomed  all  their  lives  to  being 
merely  polite  and  innocuous,  seized  upon  this  chance  to 
show  that  they  understood  poetry  in  its  most  exotic 
forms,  and  repeated  Dawson  in  a  moonlit  garden  to  the 
sound  of  falling  waters  and  the  gentle  applause  of  appre- 
ciative hands." 

Aside  from  the  point  I  make  in  regard  to  the  origin 
of  little  theatres,  there  is  one  other:  Less  than  ten  years 
ago  Irish  plays  came  into  favor  and  were  much  in  demand 
for  several  seasons,  but  I  have  not  heard  of  any  per- 
formance of  an  Irish  play  preceding  my  production  of 
Synge's  "The  Shadow  of  the  Glen." 

All  these  Irish  plays  have  mystic  lure.     A  strange 


My  Chicago  71 

charm,  as  strange  as  those  elusive  qualities  in  the  complex 
of  Irish  character  which  gave  to  that  people  a  power  to 
sense  the  elemental;  the  unseen;  the  witchery  of  desolate 
moors  coursed  by  silent  shadowy  hounds,  of  moonlight 
on  flowing  waters,  of  the  little  people,  of  the  ancient 
ghosts  that  hover  in  the  hills,  and  the  ancient  blood  that 
stirs  in  the  heart  at  a  dance  in  the  moonlit  road,  or  the 
song  of  a  wandering  poet.  They  have  a  spiritual  tinge. 
They  touch  the  lighter  joys  of  life,  its  deepest  shadows, 
its  pleasures,  its  moaning,  its  shuddering  tragedy.  No 
one  of  these  plays  sounds  the  whole  gamut,  but  when  you 
group  them  all  you  see  beyond  the  outer  form  the  heart 
and  soul  of  a  race  essentially  poetic,  quick  to  feel,  quick 
to  act,  a  race  in  which  feeling  dominates  logic.  A  lovable 
race,  the  Irish — with  a  perfect  genius  for  the  irrational. 
I  do  not  recall  any  other  series  of  performances  that 
attracted  me  more  or  at  one  and  the  same  time  raised  so 
many  questions  in  my  mind  than  the  Irish  series  given 
under  direction  of  Lady  Gregory  during  the  two  seasons 
she  passed  in  this  country  for  that  purpose.  The  short 
play  commends  itself  by  being  short  and  compact,  but 
makes  poor  material  for  an  evening's  entertainment,  par- 
ticularly upon  repetition.  I  think  this  is  one  reason  why 
the  Irish  vogue  died  away.  The  first  impression  nearly 
always  was  a  deep  one;  the  second  and  subsequent  per- 
formances served  rather  to  flatten  out  that  effect.  To 
stand  repetition,  a  play  must  give  more  than  one  side  of 
human  nature.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  happy  tears, 
but  I  doubt  very  much  whether  anyone  would  care  to  be 
crying  all  the  time. 


72  My  Chicago 


Chapter  Right 


avenue  anc 


N  1890  I  had  a  singular  experience  with  Mrs. 
Fiske.  She  was  playing  an  engagement  at 
the  Grand  Opera  House  and  was  invited  by 
the  Woman's  Club,  whose  rooms  at  that 
time  were  on  the  northeast  corner  of  Wabash 
Washington  street,  to  speak  on  the  subject 
of  the  Theatre  Trust,  to  which  she  and  her  husband  were 
much  opposed.  The  committee  of  arrangements  for  the 
occasion  invited  me  to  call  for  her  and  bring  her  to  the 
club.  I  ordered  a  carriage  and  drove  to  the  Congress 
Hotel,  where  she  was  stopping.  She  was  awaiting  my 
arrival,  and  promptly  was  seated  in  the  carriage.  Know- 
ing that  she  was  naturally  somewhat  nervous  over  mak- 
ing her  speech,  I  decided  not  to  talk  to  her  on  irrelevant 
matters,  and  not  a  word  passed  between  us  until  I  handed 
her  over  to  the  committee. 

After  the  speech  was  over  an  intimate  friend  in  my 
presence  told  her  something  of  me  and  of  my  work  along 
her  line  in  Chicago.  When  we  reentered  the  carriage 
to  return  to  the  hotel  I  thought  "now  that  her  anxiety 
is  over  and  she  knows  something  of  me  and  my  work, 
she  will  probably  talk."  I  waited  for  her  to  take  the 
initiative.  Not  a  word  did  she  utter  until  just  as  we  were 
at  our  destination  she  threw  up  her  hands  exclaiming, 
"Oh,  I  wonder  if  I've  said  the  right  thing!"  I  told  her 
she  had  spoken  from  conviction,  and  not  to  worry. 

We  alighted  from  the  carriage — I  presented  her  with 
a  large  bouquet  of  violets  which  I  carried,  bade  her  good 
afternoon,  and  went  my  way. 

When  she  visited  Chicago  a  year  later  I  received  a 
summons  to  visit  her  at  the  hotel.  She  received  me  cor- 


My  Chicago  73 

dially,  as  though  we  had  met  frequently.  We  discussed 
several  books  on  occult  matters  in  which  she  seemed  deeply 
interested,  and  I  took  my  departure.  No  reference  was 
made  to  our  former  meeting.  No  reason  assigned  for 
desiring  this  interview.  I  have  not  met  her  since. 

Among  the  plays  given  during  1899  was  "The  Twilight 
of  the  Gods,"  by  Edith  Wharton,  with  Anne  Walker, 
Andrew  Sheriff  and  Robert  H.  Melloy  in  the  cast.  Mr. 
Chatfield-Taylor,  who  attended  the  play,  declared  it  to  be 
the  best  amateur  performance  he  had  ever  attended,  and 
asked  if  I  would  not  repeat  it  in  order  that  others  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  it. 

In  1900  I  presented  "Gringoire,"  a  translation  from 
the  French,  which  introduced  for  the  first  time  Mr. 
Taylor  Holmes,  since  famous  as  "His  Majesty  Bunker 
Bean."  Later  in  that  year  I  gave  memorable  recitals  of 
Bernard  Shaw's  "Candida"  in  which  Mr.  Holmes  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  creating  the  character  of  March- 
banks.  Mr.  William  Archer,  well  known  as  the  trans- 
lator of  Ibsen,  happened  to  be  in  Chicago  at  the  time 
and  witnessed  a  performance.  He  pronounced  the  entire 
cast  of  the  play  excellent,  and  wrote  Mr.  Shaw  it  was 
the  best  performance  of  a  play  he  had  seen  in  America. 
As  a  result  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Shaw,  forwarded 
from  America  to  me  at  Carlsbad,  whither  I  had  gone 
for  my  summer  vacation,  in  which  he  cordially  invited 
me  if  I  were  coming  to  England  to  visit  Mrs.  Shaw  and 
himself  at  their  country  home  at  Hazelmere,  a  two  hours' 
ride  from  London.  Of  course  I  went,  and  went  prepared 
for  the  worst;  for  I  did  not  know  what  to  expect  from 
the  greatest  satirist  of  his  age.  In  fact  I  was  warned 
before  leaving  London  that  I  would  probably  be  made  to 
feel  mighty  uncomfortable,  that  I,  a  woman  and  a  Chi- 
cago woman  at  that,  should  presume  or  dare  to  produce 
his  plays.  I  was  not  entirely  reassured  by  the  cordial 
greeting  of  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shaw  upon  my  arrival  at 


74  My  Chicago 

their  home  about  ten  o'clock  one  hot  July  morning.  We 
were  at  once  comfortably  seated,  and  in  less  than  ten 
minutes  I  felt  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  friend  and  a 
friend  of  long  standing. 

We  chatted  about  matters  dramatic  in  America.  He 
referred  to  Mr.  Archer's  enthusiastic  account  of  the  per- 
formance of  "Candida,"  and  said  that  while  he  would 
not  on  any  account  go  to  hear  the  play  given  by  profes- 
sionals, he  would  journey  a  long  way  to  hear  my  per- 
formance. He  was  delighted  to  see  a  picture  of  Taylor 
Holmes  as  Marchbanks,  which  I  presented  to  him.  At 
that  time  he  had  just  finished  writing  "Captain  Brass- 
bound's  Conversion"  and  read  me  portions  of  it.  He 
had  submitted  it  to  Irving  and  Miss  Terry,  and  while  we 
were  at  luncheon  the  postman  brought  a  letter  from  Miss 
Terry,  declining  the  play  as  there  was  no  suitable  part 
for  Irving.  After  Irving's  death  Miss  Terry  produced 
the  play  in  America.  Mr.  Shaw  had  seen  my  pupil  James 
Carew  playing  with  Maxine  Elliott  and  recommended 
that  he  play  Captain  Brassbound,  which  he  did,  with 
the  result  that  during  their  American  tour  in  the  play 
they  fell  in  love  and  were  married. 

To  return  to  Shaw  and  my  visit  to  him:  He  told  me 
at  its  conclusion  that  I  could  do  any  of  his  plays  and  he 
would  be  interested  in  hearing  the  result  of  my  efforts. 
When  I  wrote  him  in  1902  that  I  was  presenting  "Caesar 
and  Cleopatra"  with  a  cast  of  girls  which  included  Miss 
Edith  Moss  as  Julius  Caesar,  and  Miss  Florence  Bradley 
as  Cleopatra,  I  received  the  following  letter: 

10  Adelphi  Terrace  W.  C. 

My  Dear  Miss  Morgan : — Great  Heavens  !     Is 
my  Julius  Caesar  going  to  be  created  at  last  by  a 
Chicago  young  lady!     Oh  Anna,  Anna,  how  can  I 
show  my  face  in  Chicago  after  this? 
Yours  Stupended, 

G.  BERNARD  SHAW. 


Bernard  Shaw  reading  to  Anna  Morgan, 

from  the  manuscript  of  Captain 
Brassbound's  Conversion. 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


My  Chicago  75 

The  play  had  been  written  for  Mansfield  and  had  been 
declined  by  him.  It  was  afterwards  played  profes- 
sionally by  Sir  Forbes  Robertson,  with  Gertrude  Elliott 
as  Cleopatra. 

Richard  Mansfield  happened  to  be  playing  at  the  Chi- 
cago Opera  House  while  I  was  working  on  the  play.  I 
invited  him  to  attend  a  rehearsal,  which  he  did.  The 
next  day  to  my  astonishment  he  sent  me  the  following 
letter: 

The  Virginia,  Chicago. 

My  Dear  Miss  Morgan: — I  neglected  to  con- 
gratulate you  upon  the  excellent  acting  of  your 
pupils  yesterday;  I  really  was  quite  astonished,  and 
I  am  sure  their  remarkable  proficiency  is  due  en- 
tirely to  your  admirable  method  of  teaching.  Pray 
accept  this  sincere  word  of  praise  now,  with  the 
best  wishes  of  your  very  faithful  servant, 

RICHARD  MANSFIELD. 

Miss  Jeannette  Gilder,  editor  of  the  New  York  Critic, 
in  writing  of  my  work  said,  "It  is  safe  to  say  that  no  other 
school  has  called  forth  more  universal  expressions  of  ap- 
proval from  thoughtful  persons  in  public  life  whose 
opinions  are  worthy  of  note.  .  .  .  Miss  Morgan's 
young  people  have  presented  Rostand's  "The  Romancers" 
and  Maeterlinck's  "The  Intruder."  They  have  boldly 
plumbed  the  depths  of  Ibsen;  they  have  played  Stephen 
Phillips'  poetical  drama;  they  have  tried  Henry  Fuller's 
parodies,  and  spoken  Edith  Wharton's  subtle,  finished 
dialogue.  The  astonishing  thing  is  that  they  have  done 
all  of  these  things  well.  The  performances  are  looked 
forward  to  as  a  unique  feature  of  the  Chicago  season — 
to  an  extent  they  take  the  place  of  a  Theatre  Libre. 

"Mr.  G.  Bernard  Shaw's  'Caesar  and  Cleopatra'  has 
been  given  its  first  appearance  in  Chicago  before  select 


76  My  Chicago 

audiences,  largely  composed  of  the  literary  and  artistic 
people  of  the  town.  It  is  not  the  first  time  Miss  Mor- 
gan's pupils  have  played  in  a  Shaw  piece.  A  year  or 
two  ago,  when  Mr.  William  Archer  was  travelling 
through  the  country  to  study  American  matters  dra- 
matic, they  gave  a  remarkable  interpretation  of  'Can- 
dida.' Mr.  Archer's  report  of  it  was  sufficient  to  make 
Mr.  Shaw  grant  special  permission  to  put  on  'Caesar  and 
Cleopatra.'  ' 

In  1903  I  said  to  Miss  Florence  Bradley,  who  had 
created  the  role  of  Cleopatra,  "What  would  you  like  to 
rehearse?"  "Hamlet,"  she  replied,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation.  As  I  had  been  very  much  given  to  rehearsing 
Hamlet  for  a  number  of  years,  I  replied  "All  right,  I'll 
put  it  in  rehearsal." 

The  play  was  given  at  Powers'  Theatre  on  May  nth, 
1903,  the  cast  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  play 
being  composed  entirely  of  women,  Miss  Bradley  play- 
ing the  title  role.  The  play  was  given  in  costume,  with- 
out scenery  or  properties,  with  a  simple  background  of 
green  curtains,  and  owing  to  the  extreme  length  of  the 
play  closed  with  Hamlet's  speech  at  the  end  of  the  grave 
digger's  scene:  "Imperious  Caesar,  dead  and  turned  to 
clay,  Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away;  O,  that 
that  earth,  which  kept  the  world  in  awe,  Should  patch  a 
wall  to  expel  the  winter's  flaw!'  "  To  which  I  added  these 
lines,  which  occur  later  in  the  play:  "If  it  be  now,  'tis 
not  to  come;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  will  be  now;  if  it  be 
not  now,  yet  it  will  come:  the  readiness  is  all.  Since 
no  man  knows  aught  of  what  he  leaves,  what  is't  to  leave 
betimes?  Let  be." 

There  was  a  large  audience,  composed  of  a 
discriminating  public  and  many  members  of  the  dramatic 
profession  then  playing  in  Chicago,  among  them  Miss 
Julia  Marlowe,  who  was  then  filling  an  engagement  and 
by  whose  courtesy  we  had  the  use  of  the  theater.  On 


My  Chicago  77 

the  whole  I  consider  it  the  supreme  effort  of  my  career 
as  a  dramatic  instructor.  At  the  invitation  of  Miss  Jane 
Addams  the  play  was  repeated  at  Hull  House. 


Chapter  Nine 

LONG  about  1904  I  began  to  hear  a  great 
deal  about  Miss  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke, 
then  recently  graduated  from  the  University 
of  Chicago,  and  one  night  she  was  pointed 
out  to  me  at  the  theatre,  a  very  individual 
looking  young  woman  with  black  eyes  and  Titian  hair.  It 
happened  that  she  came  to  see  me  a  few  days  later.  I 
recall  her  vividly  as  seated  on  the  window  bench  she  dis- 
closed her  literary  ambition  to  me,  and  asked  what  she 
should  do.  It  was  at  the  time  when  the  monologue  form 
of  writing  was  beginning  to  develop,  and  for  which  there 
was  a  great  demand.  She  listened  to  what  I  had  to  say 
with  the  poise  which  has  always  been  one  of  her  marked 
characteristics,  and  took  her  departure,  returning  in  a 
few  days  with  her  first  monologue,  "Cupid  Plays  Coach." 
The  occasion  was  the  day  of  a  woman's  golf  tournament, 
the  scene  the  veranda  of  a  club  house,  on  which  the  mem- 
bers and  their  friends  listen  to  the  successful  competitor. 
The  monologue  ended  with  a  love  scene  and  altogether 
was  effective.  This  first  effort  was  followed  in  swift 
succession  by  many  others,  which  resulted  in  the  publica- 
tion of  two  volumes  entitled  "Modern  Monologues!" 
and  "More  Modern  Monologues,"  and  "Dramatic  Epi- 
sodes," many  of  which  were  given  on  the  stage  of  my 
studios,  conspicuous  among  them  being  one  in  which 
Miss  Cooke  played  the  part  of  Nell  Gwynne,  William 
Raymond  (a  prominent  Chicago  youth  then  studying 
with  me  who  has  since  flourished  on  the  professional 


78  My  Chicago 

stage)  playing  the  part  of  King  Charles  II.  After  win- 
ning considerable  reputation  in  Chicago,  Miss  Cooke 
went  to  New  York,  where  she  has  continued  as  a  writer 
and  has  won  distinction,  especially  in  two  of  her  novels, 
"Bambi"  and  "Cinderella  Jane."' 

Alice  Gerstenberg,  another  member  of  my  profes- 
sional classes,  a  little  later  began  her  career  as  an  author 
while  in  the  studios  by  writing  a  one-act  play,  "Captain 
Joe,"  the  title  part  being  especially  designed  for  Miss 
Josephine  Lydston,  a  fellow  student.  Miss  Gerstenberg 
has  since  written  other  things,  a  one-act  play  called 
"Overtones,"  which  has  been  produced  with  success  pro- 
fessionally. She  also  adapted  "Alice  In  Wonderland" 
for  the  professional  stage. 

Once  while  playing  an  engagement  here  during  the 
early  nineteen  hundreds,  Maxine  Elliott  came  to  the 
Studios  and  one  of  our  classes  rehearsed  "A  Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream"  for  her  entertainment.  Bottom, 
who  was  being  represented  by  a  girl,  had  not  been  on  the 
stage  five  minutes  before  Miss  Elliott  exclaimed,  "that 
girl,  why,  do  you  know,  she's  a  wonder.  She  is  pos- 
sessed of  talent  for  real  comedy.  Don't  you  see  she's 
funny  whether  she  speaks  or  not?  I  must  let  Mr.  Dil- 
lingham  (her  manager)  know  of  her  at  once.  She  has 
a  talent  rare  upon  the  stage." 

The  girl  in  question  was  Alice  Gargeer,  a  Bohemian 
by  birth,  who  had  taken  an  opportunity  to  come  to  this 
country  in  the  capacity  of  a  nurse.  One  of  our  wealthy 
women,  discovering  her  talent  and  desire  for  a  dramatic 
career,  brought  her  to  my  Studios  for  a  course  of  study. 
In  appearance  she  looked  much  as  I  imagine  the  dis- 
tinguished Mme.  Janauschek  must  have  looked  at  twenty 
years  of  age.  During  that  summer  Miss  Gargeer  ac- 
cepted a  position  in  a  company  in  order  to  gain  a  better 
knowledge  of  English,  and  to  get  stage  experience.  One 
morning  in  August  I  picked  up  The  Tribune,  where,  on 


My  Chicago  79 

the  first  page  was  the  announcement  of  her  tragic  death. 
She  had  been  thrown  from  a  motor  car  and  instantly 
killed.  Two  weeks  later  a  telegram  came  to  me  one 
morning, 

"Send  Miss  Gargeer  to  me  at  once   for  rehearsals, 

DlLLINGHAM." 

By  her  death  our  American  stage  was  robbed  of  one 
who  in  all  probability  would  have  become  a  great 
comedienne. 

While  we  were  at  work  on  "A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream"  Paul  Lawrence  Dunbar  came  to  a  rehearsal. 
I  found  he  was  a  charming  man  as  well  as  a  delightful 
poet.  He  was  well  versed  in  Shakespeare,  and  made 
many  valuable  suggestions.  I  was  at  that  time  com- 
piling a  volume  of  "Selected  Readings"  and  he  gra- 
ciously gave  me  permission  to  include  several  of  his 
poems  in  my  collection ;  and  later  himself  chose  the  ones 
which  were  published  in  that  volume.  He  was  not  only 
the  greatest  poet  among  his  own  people,  but  was  among 
America's  sweetest  poets.  Like  Shelley,  Keats,  Ben 
King,  Stephen  Crane,  and  many  other  gifted  writers,  he 
died  in  his  early  thirties. 

My  "Selected  Readings"  was  published  that  year  by 
A.  C.  McClurg  and  Company,  also  a  companion  volume 
called  "The  Art  of  Speech  and  Deportment."  In  the 
spring  of  that  year  I  wrote  a  Shakespearean  fantasy, 
"The  Great  Experiment,"  in  which  I  summoned  the 
Shakespearean  heroines  to  a  tea  party.  The  booklet 
was  published  by  Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour. 

Just  before  the  opening  of  my  classes  that  fall  a 
woman  perhaps  sixty  years  of  age,  who  had  once  been  a 
leader  in  Chicago  society,  and  had  spent  large  sums 
yearly  in  entertaining  her  friends,  came  to  me  and  con- 
fessed that  she  was  entirely  without  means.  Her  hus- 
band had  become  involved  in  speculations  of  various 


80  My  Chicago 

kinds,  and  had  lost  her  fortune  as  well  as  his  own  before 
his  death.  She  told  me  that  she  was  unwilling  to  accept 
checks  from  her  friends,  and  said  she  wished  to  take  up 
reading  as  a  profession  in  order  to  make  her  living. 
Beerbohm  Tree  had  just  produced  "The  Merry  Wives 
of  Windsor"  in  London  with  success,  and  a  good  deal 
was  being  said  about  it.  As  this  woman  was  mistress 
not  only  of  English  but  the  various  languages  and  dia- 
lects with  which  this  play  abounds,  I  started  her  off  with 
readings  from  it,  with  charming  results. 

When  the  classes  met  a  little  later  for  their  opening 
rehearsal,  I  decided  to  use  this  play  for  the  beginning 
work,  simply  to  familiarize  the  pupils  with  a  Shakespeare 

flay  seldom  read  and  little  used  in  schools  of  expression, 
had  no  thought  it  would  prove  anything  more  than  of* 
momentary  interest.  But  at  the  first  rehearsal  Falstaff 
appeared  in  the  person  of  a  very  pretty  girl,  Miss  Leora 
Moore,  who  later  on  became  one  of  my  instructors.  It 
was  extraordinary;  she  would  walk  up  stage,  turn  and 
come  down  facing  the  audience,  and  in  some  subtle 
way  the  characteristics  of  that  unctuous  old  knight  were 
instantly  suggested  so  cleverly  that  even  those  in  the 
room  who  were  entirely  unfamiliar  with  the  character 
were  convulsed  with  laughter.  Strange  as  it  seemed  and 
incredible  as  it  must  appear  to  my  readers,  one  after 
another  of  the  varied  characters  developed  in  the  play 
until  the  entire  cast  was  secured;  and  strange  as  it  is  to 
relate  the  girls  who  created  the  male  roles  were  more 
remarkable  than  those  who  characterized  the  Merry 
Wives.  In  Beerbohm  Tree's  production  of  the  play  the 
wives  were  played  by  Ellen  Terry  and  Mrs.  Kendal.  I 
gave  a  recital  of  the  play  one  evening  in  my  Studios  and 
invited  the  members  of  the  Little  Room  to  be  my  guests. 
I  remember  that  Fanny  Bloomfield  Zeisler  came  to  me 
upon  her  arrival  and  said,  "I  remarked  to  my  husband  as 
we  came  down  on  the  train  that  Anna  Morgan  had  given 


My  Chicago  81 

a  great  many  clever  performances,  but  how  on  earth  she 
expected  to  do  anything  with  the  Merry  Wives,  with  a 
cast  of  girls  dressed  in  tailored  skirts  and  shirt  waists, 
was  beyond  my  comprehension."  The  play  proved  inter- 
esting and  entertaining  to  her  as  well  as  to  all  who  saw 
it,  and  its  production  remains  one  of  the  unique  recitals 
given  in  my  Studios. 

I  have  dwelt  at  length  upon  the  presentation  of  plays 
during  my  professional  career  as  a  teacher  of  dramatic 
art  for  the  reason  that  they  have  been  the  avenues 
through  which  the  culture  obtained  in  the  general  classes 
was  displayed,  the  "show  work,"  so  to  speak,  of  the 
school. 

One  of  the  most  educational  and  interesting  of  recent 
plays  was  the  presentation  of  "The  Contrast"  in  1917. 
This  play  was  the  first  comedy  written  by  an  American. 
Its  original  production  was  in  New  York  in  1783. 

It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  go  into  further  details 
regarding  my  production  of  innumerable  plays  during 
the  past  ten  years,  but  I  may  say  they  included  ''The 
Hour  Glass,"  by  William  Butler  Yeats,  and  the  Greek 
plays  "Antigone"  and  the  "Electra"  of  Euripides,  in 
these  and  many  plays  given  during  the  last  five  years  I 
have  been  materially  assisted  by  Miss  Lillian  Fitch,  an 
honored  member  of  my  faculty. 

I  should  like  to  recount  if  it  were  possible  the  many 
social  affairs  given  in  my  Studios  during  the  past  nineteen 
years.  Such  an  account  would  include  a  famous  luncheon 
given  on  my  stage  to  Sir  Forbes-Robertson  and  Gertrude 
Elliot  in  1902,  at  which  Mme.  Modjeska  and  her  hus- 
band, Count  Bozenta,  also  were  guests;  and  of  the  visits 
of  Henry  Irving,  Ellen  Terry,  Maxine  Elliott,  E.  H. 
Sothern,  Julia  Marlowe,  and  hosts  of  other  men  and 
women  illustrious  in  the  various  fields  of  art. 

In  the  year  1910,  when  there  was  unusual  interest  in 
the  publication  of  dramatic  plays,  I  gave  a  series  of  four 


82  My  Chicago 

lenten  readings  which  attracted  large  audiences.  The 
course  opened  at  the  home  of  the  Chatfield-Taylors,  who 
at  that  time  were  occupying  the  residence  of  Hamilton 
McCormick  at  the  corner  of  Ontario  and  Rush  streets, 
where  I  read  Maeterlinck's  "The  Blue  Bird."  On  Feb- 
ruary fourteenth  I  read  "The  Faith  Healer,"  by  Wil- 
liam Vaughn  Moody,  at  the  Harold  McCormick  home 
on  the  Lake  Shore  Drive.  The  reading  for  February 
2  ist  was  to  have  been  given  at  the  home  of  the  James 
B.  Wallers  on  Superior  street,  but  was  given  at  the 
Mark  Willings  on  Rush  street  instead.  The  course 
ended  with  a  reading  of  "What  the  Public  Wants,"  by 
Arnold  Bennett,  at  the  Robert  B.  McGanns  in  Pearson 
street. 


Chapter  Ten 

URING  the  season  of  1904  I  instituted  a 
series  of  book  recitals  in  which  ten  or  more 
students  took  part.  The  idea  was  to  pre- 
sent the  entire  book,  parts  of  it  being  related 
to  connect  the  most  striking  scenes  that  were 
read.  Early  in  the  series  Miss  Clara  E.  Laughlin's  story 
"Felicity"  was  presented,  Miss  Laughliri  herself  being 
present.  The  occasion  was  unusually  interesting. 

Miss  Laughlin's  gifts  are  various.  She  is  recognized 
by  magazine  editors  as  one  of  the  best  judges  of  sub- 
mitted scripts.  Her  judgment  is  sound  and  just,  though 
kindly.  She  is  a  writer  of  excellent  fiction,  essays  and 
description.  Her  perception  of  character  makes  her  an 
unusually  good  biographer.  She  is  blessed  with  humor. 
She  has  an  unusually  departmented  mind,  with  all  its 
departments  immediately  at  command.  Her  style  is 
lucid,  and  so  simple  no  one  need  read  any  line  of  hers  a 


My  Chicago  83 

second  time  to  know  exactly  what  it  means.  Probably 
the  truest  story  of  Riley's  career  and  output  was  the 
one  she  wrote  shortly  after  he  passed  away.  A  warm 
friendship  had  grown  up  between  them  during  Riley's 
declining  years — a  friendship  based  upon  mutual  under- 
standing of  the  finer  things  of  lire,  and  a  respect 
which  each  had  for  the  genius  or  the  talent  of  the 
other. 

Just  here  I  am  reminded  of  an  incident  in  connection 
with  one  of  the  many  recitals  of  Mr.  Riley's  sketches  I 
had  given  previous  to  the  recital  of  "Felicity."  A  new 
pupil,  a  bashful,  unsophisticated  girl  from  some  suburb, 
had  come  to  me  for  instruction.  I  asked  her  to  recite. 
To  my  surprise  and  joy  she  gave  Riley's  "The  Happy 
Little  Cripple"  with  singular  vividity.  I  was  particularly 
enthusiastic  because  I  considered  it  one  of  Riley's  master- 
pieces, and  up  to  that  time  I  had  never  found  any  one 
who  could  bring  out  its  peculiar  pathos.  Of  course  I  at 
once  determined  to  put  it  on  a  program  and  so  informed 
her.  The  following  day  she  came  to  me  accompanied 
by  her  mother,  who  told  me  she  would  not  like  her  daugh- 
ter to  appear  in  "that  little  thing  of  Riley's,"  that  she 
wanted  her  to  do  something  big  and  dramatic.  It  took 
much  reasoning  on  my  part  to  convince  them  that  "Truth 
is  the  strong  thing,"  and  not  the  size  of  a  canvas  nor  the 
subject  or  length  of  a  poem  that  counts. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  events  in  my  Studios  was 
a  visit  of  Joseph  Jefferson  the  year  before  his  death  in 
1905.  The  capacity  of  the  Studios  is  supposed  to  be 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty-five,  but  on  this  occasion 
I  believe  about  five  hundred  crowded  in,  squeezing  each 
other  off  their  feet.  Girls  fought  for  places  at  his  feet, 
and  on  the  arms  of  his  chair.  Among  them  was  Mar- 
jorie  Cooke,  who  became  one  of  his  special  admirations, 
and  I  did  not  know  but  he  would  carry  her  off  with  him. 
Mansfield  did  some  time  later  and  she  rehearsed  with 


84  My  Chicago 

him,  but  decided  that  she  would  not  give  up  her  writing 
for  a  dramatic  career. 

I  came  to  know  a  good  many  things  about  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son that  are  not  known  to  many  people.  He  had  as 
many  facets  as  a  rose  diamond.  He  was  an  excellent 
painter  in  water  colors,  but  not  so  good  in  oils,  though 
he  prided  himself  as  a  master  in  oil  painting.  He  had 
pet  peculiarities,  referable  to  his  self  acquired  education. 
He  knew  nothing  of  scholastic  methods,  but  on  the  other 
hand  he  knew  many  things  that  are  unknown  to  formal 
scholars.  He  made  his  success  in  life  on  one  half  of  one 
lung.  In  his  earlier  years,  before  the  public  found  him, 
his  physical  condition  was  such  that  his  mind  brooded 
intensely  upon  those  questions  of  death  and  of  what 
comes  after  that  puzzled  Job  and  have  plagued  the 
innumerable  generations  ever  since.  When  it  became 
clear  that  he  was  not  going  to  die,  the  cloud  lifted, 
and  left  him  with  a  clear  vision  of  spiritual  things.  He 
had  passed  middle  life  and  fame  had  come  to  him  and 
brought  him  ease  before  his  attention  was  drawn  to  the 
phenomena  upon  which  rests  that  which  is  known  as  spir- 
itualism. He  became  an  industrious  investigator,  and 
seemed  through  those  investigations  to  have  found  out 
that  spiritualism  was  not  at  all  the  thing  it  was  thought 
to  be  by  those  who  believed  in  it.  Yet  by  his  own  ac- 
knowledgment it  had  shown  him  enough  to  satisfy  him 
that  death  is  only  an  incident  in  life;  that  individual  ex- 
istence is  continuous;  that  as  some  one  has  put  it, 

"Were  there  no  night,  there'd  be  no  day; 

Were  there  no  death,  no  life." 

In  other  words,  and  by  assiduous  research  continued  up 
to  his  passing  away,  he  proved  for  himself  a  line  of  phil- 
osophy very  like  that  ancient  body  of  philosophy  and 
fact  that  appears  in  the  Sanscrit  writings,  and  constitutes 
today  the  heart  of  the  thought  and  belief  that  prevails 
in  Hindustan  and  the  farther  orient,  under  the  much 


My  Chicago  85 

misunderstood  name  of  Buddhism.  He  partook  of 
Hamlet's  view  that  we  are  endowed  with  "capabilities 
and  godlike  reason,  looking  before  and  after."  Once 
he  said,  "If  you  find  it  possible  to  imagine  a  stick  having 
only  one  end,  will  you  please  tell  me  which  end?"  His 
notion  of  individual  continuity  seemed  to  include  neces- 
sarily a  past  as  well  as  a  future  existence,  emerging  from 
and  disappearing  in  regions  beyond  our  power  to  chart. 
It  is  anomalous  that  a  man  perfected  as  he  was  in  the  art 
so  engrossing  as  the  one  in  which  he  had  towered  to  the 
highest,  should  have  found  the  time  or  had  the  bent  to 
study  and  to  reason  in  domains  so  esoteric,  so  far  re- 
moved, so  little  explored.  I  think  the  anomaly  may  be 
explained  by  his  highly  spiritualized  nature,  his  clarity 
in  perceiving  spiritual  possibilities,  his  passion  for  inquir- 
ing after  truth  and  his  utter  lack  of  prejudice. 

While  I  am  on  the  subject  I  may  as  well  say  that  Edwin 
Booth  was  strongly  tinged  with  beliefs  similar  to  those 
held  by  Mr.  Jefferson.  Mr.  Booth  was  profoundly 
studious.  I  am  aware  this  statement  will  be  received 
with  surprise,  possibly  with  incredulity  by  most  people. 
The  answer  is  that  only  to  his  intimates  did  he  show 
himself  as  he  really  was.  My  own  acquaintance  with 
him  was  limited,  but  it  so  happens  that  some  of  these 
intimates  were  in  the  circle  of  my  friendship,  and  through 
them  I  have  this  picture  of  him  "in  his  habit  as  he  lived," 
not  in  the  pose  in  which  he  stood  behind  the  footlights 
and  before  the  people. 

Something  along  parallel  lines  may  be  said  of  Richard 
Mansfield  as  I  knew  him  in  his  personal  as  well  as  his 
professional  life.  Like  Mr.  Booth  he  posed  to  the  pub- 
lic. Also  like  Mr.  Booth,  he  was  a  pure  joy  to  his 
friends.  I  doubt  if  the  American  stage  has  known  a 
greater  melodramatic  actor.  His  Baron  Chevreal  had  a 
verisimilitude  that  was  simply  astonishing.  In  "Dr. 
Jekyl  and  Mr.  Hyde"  he  2mployed  adroitly  several 


86  My  Chicago 

tricks  that  were  very  shuddery,  but  purely  theatric — using 
that  term  in  its  mechanical  sense.  When  he  attempted 
higher  things,  he  made  the  judicious  grieve.  It  was  in 
his  hours  of  relaxation  that  he  really  came  out  strong. 
He  was  a  brilliant  musician,  with  a  fine  voice,  well 
trained.  He  had  a  streak  of  fun  in  him  that  was  simply 
entrancing.  He  would  play,  he  would  sing,  he  would 
dance,  he  would  tell  stories  that  would  waken  the  dead, 
they  were  so  funny.  There  were  no  limits  to  his  gifts. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  interesting  talkers  on  more  sub- 
jects than  any  one  else  I  ever  have  known.  And  he  had 
friends  in  every  town,  to  whom  he  gave  of  all  these 
gifts  most  lavishly.  Some  of  those  evenings  at  which  I 
was  present  are  among  the  brighest  of  my  memories. 
He  never  came  to  my  Studios  but  that  he  brought  sun- 
shine. All  of  us  were  fond  of  him;  all  of  us  mourned 
him, — none  of  us  more  sincerely  than  myself.  He  was 
supposed  to  be  unapproachable — and  so  he  was.  To 
strangers  his  manner  was  forbidding,  sometimes  harsh, 
sometimes  positively  discourteous.  It  was  when  he  chose 
to  be  the  approacher  that  he  disclosed  the  real 
Mansfield. 

Mr.  David  Warfield's  visits  to  my  Studios  were  little 
events  in  themselves.  He  took  an  intelligent  interest  in 
the  work  that  was  being  done  there,  and  my  pupils  were 
always  glad  to  see  him. 

On  one  occasion,  after  listening  to  several  scenes  and 
plays,  he  engaged  one  of  my  pupils  to  take  a  place  sud- 
denly vacated  in  his  company.     The  young  woman  made 
food  and  remained  with  him  several  seasons.     Mr.  War- 
eld  is  one  of  the  best  exponents  of  the  art  of  expres- 
sion that  ever  graced  the  stage.    His  versatility  in  dialect 
has  delighted  thousands  everywhere.     For  a  long  time 
I  thought  it  was  a  gift,  but  I  was  only  half  right.     The 
gift  back  of  it  was  a  peculiarly  keen  sense  of  melody. 
If  he  heard  a  dialect  spoken,  he  would  catch  and  repro- 


My  Chicago  87 

duce  it,  exactly  as  people  catch  and  sing  a  song.  This  is 
equivalent  to  saying  he  had  a  perfect  melodic  memory. 
It  is  easier  for  him  to  remember  than  to  forget  a  song 
or  a  dialect.  I  think  in  this  respect  he  has  only  one  equal 
on  the  stage,  and  that  is  Nat  Goodwin,  who  at  one  time 
in  London  played  a  Cockney  part,  and  was  both  amused 
and  amazed  when  the  critics  wanted  to  know  where  that 
Cockney  had  been  all  the  years  they  had  never  heard  of 
him,  and  how  any  Cockney  ever  broke  into  so  good  a 
company  in  a  high  class  theatre.  It  took  a  lot  of  trouble 
to  convince  them  that  he  was  an  American,  distinguished 
in  his  own  country  and  profession.  Their  somewhat 
indignant  curiosity  is  easily  understood  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  no  one  save  here  and  there  an  English  actor 
has  been  able  to  speak  as  the  Cockney  speaks.  The  dia- 
lect comes  near  to  being  a  separate  language,  and  its 
inflections  do  not  lend  themselves  to  imitations,  they  are 
so  queer.  The  Cockney  tongue  is  spoken  only  in  that 
part'of  London  which  is  known  as  the  Land  of  Cockaigne, 
an  urban  district  bounded  on  the  east  by  the  Minories, 
on  the  south  by  the  Thames,  on  the  west  by  the  old 
Temple  Bar,  and  on  the  north  by  Holborn.  About  the 
middle  of  this  district  stands  the  church  of  St.  Mary  le 
Bow  (locally  known  as  Simmerylabo) .  In  the  tower  of 
this  church  is  a  chime  of  most  sweet  bells.  The  Cockney 
language  is  not  supposed  to  be  spoken  by  any  one  who 
lives  beyond  the  sound  of  Bow  Bells. 


My  Chicago 


Chapter  Eleven 

T  will  always  be  a  pleasant  memory  that  Ben 
King  came  to  my  Studios  in  response  to  my 
invitation.  The  visit  was  a  delightful  one 
to  my  pupils  and  myself,  and  if  evidences 
mean  anything,  he  also  enjoyed  it.  With 
this  began  an  acquaintanceship  that  was  all  too  suddenly 
terminated  by  his  death  within  a  year. 

It  was  at  Bowling  Green,  Kentucky,  that  his  call  came. 
He  was  doing  platform  work  that  season  in  conjunction 
with  Opie  Read,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  had 
found  prosperity  in  a  new  field  for  which  his  talents 
eminently  fitted  him. 

It  is  probable  that  out  of  the  many  poems  he  wrote 
the  best  remembered  is  "If  I  Should  Die  To-Night,"  a 
whimsical  travesty  on  a  serious  poem  bearing  the  same 
title.  One  verse  of  it  floats  to  this  day  through  the 
minds  of  many  millions,  most  of  whom  never  heard  of 
the  man  himself.  I  mean 

"If  I  should  die  to-night, 

And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  say, 
Weeping  and  heartsick  o'er  my  lifeless  clay — 

If  I  should  die  tonight, 

And  you  should  come  in  deepest  grief  and  woe — 
And  say  'Here's  that  ten  dollars  that  I  owe,' 

I  might  arise  in  my  large  white  cravat 

And  say  'What's  that?' 

If  I  should  die  to-night, 

And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  kneel, 
Clasping  my  bier  to  show  the  grief  you  feel, 


My  Chicago  89 

If  I  should  die  to-night, 

And  you  should  come  to  me  and  there  and  then 
Just  even  hint  'bout  paying  me  that  ten, 

I  might  arise  the  while, 
But  I'd  drop  dead  again." 

After  the  entertainment  that  night,  the  live  boys  of 
Bowling  Green  flocked  with  Opie  and  Ben  to  the  hotel 
seeking  more  of  the  same  stuff  they  had  been  listening  to 
at  the  hall.  Mr.  Read  very  early  excused  himself  and 
went  to  his  room.  Ben  King  was  teased  into  about  a  half 
hour  of  fun  and  would  have  been  up  all  night  if  he  had 
done  all  they  wanted  of  him.  After  some  time  they 
compromised  and  agreed  to  let  him  go  if  he  would  recite 
"If  I  Should  Die  To-night."  He  did,  and  went  to  bed 
— and  died  that  night.  A  call  for  six  o'clock  had  been 
left.  When  the  bellboy  reported  to  Mr.  Read  that  Mr. 
King  did  not  answer,  he  went  himself  and  found  Ben 
cold.  It  broke  up  the  season's  engagements  and  came 
very  near  breaking  up  Mr.  Read  himself.  A  very  strong 
attachment  had  grown  up  between  them  through  daily 
and  nightly  association  in  The  Chicago  Press  Club.  That 
rather  unemotional  group  of  disillusioned  men  was 
stunned  when  the  news  came. 

The  Press  Club  took  charge  of  the  obsequies  and  laid 
their  friend  away  in  a  beautiful  place  near  the  city  of 
St.  Joseph,  Michigan,  which  had  been  his  home  for  some 
time.  As  Opie  Read  said  at  the  time,  "the  people  of 
the  United  States  have  at  last  found  out  there  is  a  place 
in  Michigan  called  St.  Joe."  Ben  King's  monument  is 
a  large  and  beautiful  granite  boulder  bearing  this 
chiseled  inscription: 

1857     —     BEN   KING     —     1894 

Opie  Read  is  now  the  President  of  that  same  Press 
Club.  I  think  he  was  the  man  who  suggested  the  absorp- 
tion of  another  club,  probably  the  most  amazing  that 


9O  My  Chicago 

ever  was  formed  in  this  or  any  other  country — The 
Whitechapel  Club.  At  any  rate,  he  was  a  member  of 
both  organizations  and  the  two  had  common  origin 
among  newspaper  men  and  artists  living  in  Chicago. 

The  Press  Club  was  organized  in  1879,  and  had 
grown  into  a  large  membership  and  a  fairly  substantial 
condition. 

The  Whitechapel  Club  was  organized  in  1888  and 
had  grown  into  a  glorious  reputation  and  a  condition  of 
perfect  penury.  The  elder  took  compassion  upon  the 
younger,  enfolded  it  and  paid  its  debts,  so  that  as  an 
entity  it  ceased,  but  as  a  nursery  or  preparatory  school  of 
genius  it  will  be  remembered  for  a  long,  long  time.  The 
membership  included  Brand  Whitlock,  afterward  Mayor 
|of  Toledo,  and  still  later  United  States  Minister  to  Bel- 
|gium,  whose  story  of  the  invasion  and  desolation  of  that 
[sweet  country  is  one  of  the  most  earnest  and  profoundly 
jtouching  records  thus  far  made  of  any  episode  in  the 
(great  war.  George  Ade;  Wallace  Rice;  W.  W.  Dens- 
low,  the  artist  who  died  but  recently  at  Buffalo;  Finley 
Peter  Dunn,  the  philosophy  of  whose  Mr.  Dooley  has 
held  the  attention  and  delighted  the  hearts  of  all  the 
English  speaking  peoples  these  many  years;  Charlie 
Holloway,  now  admittedly  the  foremost  mural  painter 
in  the  United  States;  Alfred  Henry  Lewis,  who  after- 
ward wrote  the  only  stories  of  western  life  (particularly 
of  the  cattle  era)  that  had  absolute  validity;  Alfred's 
brother,  William  E.  Lewis,  now  editor  and  proprietor 
of  the  New  York  Morning  Telegraph,  a  great  and  ag- 
gressive newspaper;  Herbert  A.  Hallet,  now  the  adver- 
tising manager  of  the  New  York  Morning  Telegraph; 
Tom  E.  Powers  and  Horace  Taylor,  cartoonists,  both 
of  them  working  now  in  New  York  and  syndicated 
throughout  the  land;  Hon.  Wm.  E.  Mason,  afterwards 
United  States  Senator  and  then  Congressman  at  large 
from  Illinois;  Dr.  G.  Frank  Lydston,  whose  work  both 


My  Chicago  91 

professional  and  literary  is  as  well  known  in  Europe 
as  at  home;  Hermann  the  Great  (wizard)  ;  Dr.  Frank 
W.  Reilly,  later  managing  editor  of  The  Chicago  Daily 
News,  and  his  son  Leigh  Reilly,  managing  editor  of  the 
Chicago  Herald  up  to  the  time  The  Herald  was  ab- 
sorbed by  The  Examiner.  He  has  recently  become  the 
most  important  man  in  the  news  field  in  the  United  States 
having  been  called  to  Washington  where  he  was  made 
United  States  News  Bureau  head;  John  C.  Eastman 
editor  and  proprietor  of  The  Chicago  Evening  Journal; 
Opie  Read,  Ben  King,  and  a  few  others  who  achieved 
fame  and  success  locally,  but  who  probably  were  not  so 
well  known  outside  of  Chicago. 

The  Whitechapel  Club  spent  the  larger  part  of  its 
interesting  life  in  one  room  opening  on  the  alley  back  of 
The  Daily  News  office.  It  had  no  janitor,  no  key.  The 
center  table  was  a  gigantic  coffin.  The  wall  decorations 
were  relics  of  murder  and  other  sports.  These  were 
such  things  as  pieces  of  rope  with  which  ladies  or  gen- 
tlemen had  been  hanged;  knives,  pistols,  and  a  fine  line 
of  assorted  tools  having  lethal  purposes.  The  club  had 
a  collection  of  skulls  that  had  been  made  by  Doctor 
Spray,  a  widely  known  alienist,  who  for  several  years 
had  charge  of  the  Elgin  Asylum  for  the  Insane.  Chap- 
lain Thompson,  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  his  flock,  had 
the  crowns  sawed  off  these  skulls  and  the  eyeholes  en- 
larged, then  with  the  assistance  of  Charlie  Holloway 
he  mounted  in  each  of  the  eyeholes  a  prism  of  colored 
glass — red  glass,  green  glass,  blue,  and  so  on.  Being 
thus  provided  with  a  ventilating  hole  on  top,  and  eye 
pieces,  they  were  mounted  on  the  gas  jets.  After  dark 
the  only  light  in  the  place  was  chromatic  if  not  exhil- 
arating— it  was  a  wonderful  stained-glass  effect.  The 
irreverend  chaplain  was  given  much  credit  for  this 
artistic  triumph. 

The  principal  and  most  delicately-cherished  mortuary 


92  My  Chicago 

relic  in  the  whole  place  was  an  especially  distinguished 
skull  that  usually  occupied  the  center  of  the  stage — that 
is,  the  middle  of  the  coffin  lid.  Previous  to  her  abrupt 
departure  from  a  too  respectable  world,  it  had  been  part 
of  a  lady  who  was  best  known  to  the  police  of  our  fair 
city  as  Waterford  Jack,  the  Queen  of  the  Sands.  Her 
Majesty's  domain  had  included  an  area  bounded  by  the 
lake,  Chicago  avenue,  State  street,  and  an  indefinite  line 
to  the  north  running  somewhere  through  what  is  now 
known  as  the  Astor  street  neighborhood.  It  had  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  Alsatia  faded  to  the  pallor  of  Puritanism. 
It  was  invaded  and  searched  every  time  a  burglary  or 
murder  turned  up  in  the  social  annals,  no  matter  where 
committed,  but  after  each  invasion  it  closed  up  as  water 
does  when  you  poke  your  finger  in  and  take  it  out  again. 
When  Long  John  Wentworth  became  mayor  he  lost 
such  scanty  patience  as  he  had,  called  out  the  fire  depart- 
ment, and  with  the  lake  for  a  reservoir  wiped  the  whole 
kingdom  out  in  one  desolating  flood.  The  subsequent 
history  of  Her  Majesty  is  unknown;  but  her  skull  was 
fully  authenticated  before  it  was  given  the  honor  of  cen- 
tral interest  I  have  just  described. 

A  good  many  artists  of  international  reputation  from 
time  to  time  contributed  wonderful  drawings  commem- 
orating occurrences  in  the  Whitechapel  Club,  and  having 
in  general  a  tendency  to  celebrate  or  to  cynically  dis- 
close the  toxic  virtues  of  alcohol,  most  of  the  sketches 
having  been  made  at  hours  anywhere  between  three  A. 
M.  and  twelve  noon,  when  those  present  were  in  a  state 
to  enlist  the  lively  interest  of  the  Keeley  Institute. 

Somehow  in  the  transfer  of  membership  to  the  Press 
Club  these  pictures,  some  of  them  priceless  and  bearing 
great  signatures,  disappeared.  So  did  the  visitors'  book, 
which  abounded  in  autographs  worth  all  kinds  of  money. 

The  Whitechapel  Club  had  no  regular  meetings.  It 
had  regular  officers,  one  of  whom  was  a  treasurer  of 


My  Chicago  93 

whom  no  bond  was  required  because  the  treasury  in  his 
keeping  was  minus  of  even  the  character  usually  and 
sardonically  described  as  red  ink.  The  doings  invari- 
ably were  indecorous.  It  is  a  pity  no  record  of  them 
was  kept,  though  if  one  had  been,  a  good  deal  of  it 
never  would  have  passed  the  censor,  because  it  was 
too  funny,  too  brainy,  and  too  squarely  in  opposition  to 
all  things  dogmatic  or  conventional. 

I  will  venture  to  record  one  episode  because  it  mirrors 
the  name  of  a  man  whose  memory  will  outlast  the  mem- 
ory of  most  other  Chicago  men  by  reason  of  his  having 
shown  distinct  talent,  sometimes  approaching  genius,  as  a 
writer  of  fiction.  Two  guesses?  Yes,  you  got  it 
the  first  time — Hobart  Chatfield  Chatfield-Taylor.  Mr. 
Taylor  was  a  member  of  the  Whitechapel  and  was  not 
by  the  others  worshipped  from  afar.  The  treasurer  was 
no  less  a  man  than  Frederick  Upham  Adams,  since 
distinguished  as  a  novelist,  but  then  commonly  known  to 
his  friends  as  Grizzly  Adams.  The  Club  was  in  arrears 
in  the  matter  of  rent,  to  say  nothing  of  liabilities  to 
some  of  the  principal  liquor  houses.  The  treasury  was 
about  eight  hundred  worse  off  than  nothing.  On  the 
monetary  side  of  its  character  the  Club  was  somewhat 
callous,  but  the  creditors  were  eager,  sometimes  insolent, 
and  something  had  to  be  done.  A  municipal  election 
was  about  to  come  off.  The  popular  but  unrespected 
chaplain  of  the  Club,  the  very  irreverend  Tombstone 
Thompson  (real  name  Tomo)  had  an  inspiration.  He 
proposed  that  the  Club  become  a  political  body,  declare 
a  platform,  nominate  candidates  for  city  offices  on  a 
ticket  of  its  own,  and  extract  from  outsiders  the  largest 
possible  campaign  fund.  This  carried.  The  platform 
was  "No  gas,  no  water,  no  police,"  a  sturdy  statement 
of  manly  independence.  Grizzly  Adams  and  Tombstone 
Thompson  were  appointed  a  nominating  committee.  As 
by  one  impulse  these  two  great  minds  pounced  upon 


94  My  Chicago 

Hobart  Chatfield  Chatfield-Taylor  for  the  mayoralty, 
and  forthwith  they  proceeded  to  call  upon  that  estimable 
gentleman  and  ask  that  he  permit  the  use  of  his  name 
in  that  lofty  connection,  or,  if  he  objected  to  the  use  of 
it  in  full,  that  he  permit  the  use  of  any  part  of  it.  Mr. 
Taylor  in  a  burst  of  unexampled  generosity  told  them 
they  might  use  the  whole  of  it  and  go  as  far  as  they 
liked.  They  did.  They  nominated  an  entire  ticket  with 
his  shining  name  at  the  head,  and  having  the  inside  of 
the  newspaper  offices,  got  as  much  publicity  as  the  regu- 
lar tickets. 

The  ground  being  thus  prepared,  the  entire  member- 
ship resolved  itself  into  a  finance  committee  (they  called  it 
"touching"  committee)  and  went  after  the  public  without 
mercy. 

The  ticket  polled  nearly  one  thousand  jocular  votes, 
and  the  touching  committee  raised  nearly  nine  hundred 
dollars  cash.  Thus  and  by  these  means  the  creditors,  to 
their  amazement,  were  paid  in  full,  new  credit  was 
established,  and  the  life  of  the  Club  prolonged. 

Chatfield-Taylor  was  not  elected  Mayor  on  this  ticket, 
but  did  continue  his  work  as  a  writer,  producing  among 
other  works  "The  Crimson  Wing,"  probably  his  best 
novel,  and  biographies  of  Moliere  and  Goldoni,  for 
which  he  was  decorated  by  France  and  Italy.  His  latest 
contribution  to  literature  is  a  handsome  volume  illus- 
trated by  Lester  G.  Hornby,  called  "Chicago." 

The  Whitechapel  was  distinctively  and  exclusively  a 
man's  club.  If  any  woman  ever  entered  its  door  or  doors 
I  do  not  know,  nor  have  I  ever  heard  of  her.  In  order 
that  a  woman  might  know  a  good  deal  about  the  institu- 
tion it  would  be  necessary  merely  that  she  have  some  of 
the  Club  members  on  the  list  of  her  acquaintances.  That 
was  my  case.  But  I  dare  say  most  of  the  things  that 
happened  would  fall  inclusively  in  that  realm  of  wonders 


My  Chicago  95 

vaguely  hinted  by  the  lady  in  Tennyson's  "Princess"  in 
the  impersonal  query, 

"What  kind  of  tales  do  men  tell  men 
When  they  are  by  themselves?" 

In  answer  I  will  quote  "Bunthorne,"  the  dear  old  thing, 
in  his  sage  conclusion  concerning  certain  meanings  in  the 
decrees  of  Nature:  "I  cannot  tell."  Of  course  not. 

The  Whitechapel  Club  was  so  closely  interrelated  with 
the  Press  Club  that  a  large  membership  was  common  to 
both ;  and  while  the  Whitechapel  could  show  a  creditable 
list  of  men  who  have  since  become  famous,  the  Press 
Club  shows  a  larger. 

The  Press  Club  itself  originated  in  an  earlier  organ- 
ization called  the  Owl  Club,  which  had  been  formed  in 
1876  by  James  H.  McVicker,  Will  Eaton,  and  Will  E. 
Chapman.  Its  membership  at  first  was  restricted  to 
newspaper  men,  actors,  musicians  and  painters,  but 
within  three  years  the  qualifications  for  membership 
were  broken  down,  and  pretty  much  all  the  men  in  La- 
Salle  Street  and  the  Board  of  Trade  came  in  so  that  the 
original  members,  feeling  themselves  at  a  monetary  dis- 
advantage, broke  away  and  started  afresh  under  the  dis- 
tinctive Press  Club  name  in  November,  1879. 

The  Press  Club  was  a  success  from  the  beginning,  the 
members  profiting  by  their  recent  experience  as  Owls. 
As  a  professional  club,  it  ranks  to-day  with  its  famous 
prototype,  the  Savage  Club  of  London,  and  outranks  all 
other  organizations  of  the  same  nature  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic. 

In  its  earlier  years,  while  it  was  cabined  and  confined 
to  a  limited  space  on  the  top  floor  of  a  building  at  the 
corner  of  Madison  and  Clark  streets,  it  practiced  "a  gen- 
erous although  a  homely  hospitality.  It  was  in  the  way 
of  honoring  distinguished  writers,  actors,  singers,  and 
other  artists  whose  occasions  brought  them  to  Chicago. 


96  My  Chicago 

So  many  of  my  own  friends  were  members  of  the  Club 
that  I  used  to  go  frequently,  and  these  visits  brought  me 
into  contact  with  many  people  who  otherwise  would  have 
been  strangers  and  who  were  interested  in  the  same 
things  that  interested  me.  Friendships  formed  then 
continue  now — save  those  few  that  were  terminated  by 
death.  Of  some  of  these  old  friends  I  would  like  to 
say  a  few  things  that  will  be  new  to  my  readers. 

The  first  name  that  occurs  to  me  is  that  of  William 
D.  Eaton  (handsome  Will  Eaton  as  he  was  always 
called).  At  the  time  I  met  him  he  was  one  of  the  then 
famous  Chicago  dramatic  critics.  Will  was  on  the 
Times,  the  others  were  Teddy  McPhelim  on  the  Tribune 
and  Elwyn  A.  Barren  on  the  Inter  Ocean.  To  me  and 
many  others  at  that  time  these  men  seemed  more  impor- 
tant than  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias.  While  critic  of 
the  Times  Will  wrote  "All  the  Rage,"  the  first  farce 
to  fill  an  entire  evening  and  which  had  a  run  of  six  years. 
Shortly  after  this  in,  (I  think)  1881,  Will  left  the  Times 
and  founded  the  Chicago  Herald,  making  that  paper  a 
big  success  in  eight  months.  In  addition  to  his  pro- 
nounced success  as  a  newspaper  man  he  has  many  times 
proven  himself  a  born  promoter  in  the  more  lucrative 
field  of  commercial  exploitation,  his  energetic  endeavors 
taking  him  to  England,  where  he  passed  several  success- 
ful years,  becoming  a  member  of  the  celebrated  Savage 
Club  of  London.  Walter  Hurt  in  a  recent  biographical 
sketch  of  Mr.  Eaton  said,  "To  more  than  touch  a  few 
of  the  high  places  in  the  remarkable  life-road  travelled 
by  William  D.  Eaton  would  necessitate  writing  a  book. 
In  Mr.  Eaton  character  and  personality  affinitively  com- 
bine to  an  admirable  and  a  satisfying  harmony.  Men- 
tally and  temperamentally  endowed  with  those  special 
qualities  that  make  for  a  fine  fellowship,  with  a  mind 
both  informed  and  informative,  he  is  the  most  charming 
of  companions,  delightful  in  discourse  and  sympa- 


My  Chicago  97 

thetically  receptive.  He  is  a  public  speaker  of  fluency 
and  grace,  and  a  writer  of  admirably  varied  accomplish- 
ments, surpassingly  gifted  with  the  power  of  satire. 
Speaking  of  him  to  me,  Edmund  Vance  Cook,  the  poet, 
once  said,  "He  is  the  most  interesting  talker  I  ever  met." 
Congenitally  and  by  culture  he  is  essentially  a  gentleman. 
Courtly,  dignified,  genial,  one  instinctively  associates  him 
with  the  stately  halls  and  spacious  gardens  of  an  old 
manor  house  of  England,  rather  than  with  the  rough- 
neck atmosphere  of  a  husky  young  American  metropolis, 
where  humanity,  still  in  the  stage  of  commercial 
hoodlumism,  retains  all  its  raw  edges." 

It  would  be  assuming  a  task  too  large  and  possibly 
too  out  of  proportion  in  comparison  with  others  to  give 
to  John  McGovern  all  that  might  be  deservedly  given 
him.  He  was  a  peculiar  influence  in  the  life  of  Chicago 
and  in  some  degree  of  the  country  for  almost  forty  years; 
and  his  posthumous  influence  may  prove  larger  than  that 
of  his  own  life  time.  I  can  do  no  better  than  repeat  here 
the  memorial  resolution  of  the  Press  club  passed  when 
he  died  late  in  nineteen  hundred  and  seventeen.  It  says : 
"For  almost  forty  years,  since  the  earliest  days  of  this 
Club  John  McGovern  had  been  so  much  of  it,  and  the 
Club  so  much  to  him,  that  his  passing  created  a  strange 
and  sudden  blank.  The  term  of  his  membership  in- 
cluded various  changes  not  only  in  the  Club's  condition, 
but  in  its  roster;  so  that  men  came  and  went,  and  were 
forgotten,  and  others  who  knew  nothing  of  its  beginnings 
took  their  places;  and  these  mutations  were  continuous. 
Yet  through  all  of  them  he  remained,  a  figure  so  con- 
spicuous that  a  sense  of  permanence  attached  to  him  in 
the  memory  of  every  man  who  at  any  time  had  been  one 
of  us. 

"And  this  was  referable  to  his  personality  not  only, 
though  that  of  itself  was  peculiarly  compelling,  but  to 
the  remarkable  bent  of  his  genius,  the  depth  of  his 


98  My  Chicago 

humor,  the  greater  depth  of  his  scholarship,  his  stark 
democracy  in  all  things,  his  inflexible  honesty,  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  friendships.  No  other  man  among  us  held 
higher  ideals;  none  was  more  perfect  in  the  artistry  of 
words,  none  had  clearer  perceptions  of  poetic  beauty, 
none  ever  expressed  perceptions  of  that  kind  in  more 
perfect  poetic  forms.  In  literature  he  was  a  craftsman 
greater  than  most  men  knew.  Later  time  may  give  him 
higher  praise  and  truer  estimate  than  came  to  him  here. 

"His  biography  and  the  record  of  his  work  will  ap- 
pear in  other  documents.  This  one  is  a  heart-felt  tribute 
by  brothers  to  a  brother  who  is  gone,  whose  going  smote 
our  elder  ones  with  the  pang  of  a  great  loss,  a  pang  that 
will  not  soon  abate.  His  own  philosophy  of  life  and 
death  would  have  forbidden  our  mourning  him.  He 
would  have  us  take  counsel  with  that  Maeterlinck  he  so 
admired,  and  reflect  that  it  is  foolish  to  complain  where 
there  is  so  little  distance  between  one  who  is  dead  and 
those  who  mourn  him — considering  that  all  mankind, 
destined  to  one  and  the  same  end,  is  divided  only  by 
little  intervals,  even  when  they  appear  very  great.  Since 
we  must  all  travel  the  same  road,  is  it  not  unworthy  of  a 
wise  man  to  weep  for  one  who  has  set  out  earlier 
than  ourselves?  He  who  is  born  into  the  world  must 
also  leave  it.  His  stay  may  be  longer,  but  the  end  is 
always  alike.  If  you  consider  the  ills  of  life,  it  is  long 
even  for  a  child;  if  you  regard  the  duration,  it  is  short 
even  for  an  old  man.  If  you  have  lost  a  friend,  you 
ought  to  bring  yourself  to  this  frame  of  mind:  that  you 
are  more  pleased  at  having  had  him,  than  grieved  that 
you  have  him  no  longer. 

"And  even  so,  we  think  of  John." 

Next  stands  the  stately  figure  of  Stanley  Waterloo,  a 
great  man,  whose  true  value  is  not  yet  really  understood. 
He  wrote  many  books,  some  of  which  were  evanescent 
because  their  writing  was  crammed  into  the  intervals 


My  Chicago  99 

of  newspaper  work — for  a  working  newspaper  man  he 
remained  down  to  the  time  of  his  sudden  demise  in  1913. 
But  one  of  them,  "The  Story  of  Ab,"  is  in  my  opinion 
and  in  the  opinion  of  many  others  whom  I  believe  to  be 
competent,  the  only  serious  book  written  by  a  Chicago 
author  that  will  live  and  go  on  living.  It  is  a  story  of 
the  stone  age,  the  era  of  the  cave  man.  As  a  story 
merely,  it  is  intensely  interesting;  but  it  is  also  a  scien- 
tifically accurate  account  of  human  life  as  it  was  and 
was  carried  on  past  the  turning  point  where  man  dis- 
covered the  possibility  of  opposing  the  thumb  of  either 
hand  to  the  finger  tips,  and  so  found  out  the  way  to 
make  and  use  a  tool.  The  first  of  these  tools  was  a 
weapon,  a  stone  bludgeon.  This  was  followed  by  an 
axe  of  stone.  Other  implements,  some  of  them  for  war, 
some  for  domestic  use,  followed  in  due  course.  I  am 
not  writing  either  an  account  or  a  criticism  of  the  book, 
but  I  think  it  worth  while  to  say  it  was  and  is  scientifically 
sound  in  its  paleolithics  and  its  paleontology. 

Stanley  told  me  that  he  put  twelve  years  of  patient 
research  into  the  subject  before  he  wrote  a  line.  Its 
scientific  accuracy  is  evidenced  by  its  use  in  the  supple- 
mentary reading  courses  in  the  public  schools  of  about  a 
dozen  states,  and  of  its  similar  or  related  uses  abroad. 
It  has  had  several  reissues  in  England  and  has  been 
translated  into  all  the  languages  of  continental  Europe. 
It  is  recognized  that  Stanley  knew  more  about  the  cave 
man  and  knew  all  of  it  with  more  certainty  than  any  of 
the  scholars  who  had  specialized  in  the  same  line.  As 
an  instance:  While  he  was  trying  to  clear  up  to  his  own 
satisfaction  the  question  whether  the  sabre-toothed  tiger 
antedated  the  stone  age  or  coexisted  with  the  cave  man, 
he  called  on  the  Curator^of  the  Museum  in  the  Smith- 
sonian Institute  at  Washington  and  asked  the  privilege 
of  examining  the  skull  of  a  sabre-toothed  tiger  that  had 
recently  been  acquired.  When  he  explained  to  the  Cura- 


ioo  My  Chicago 

tor  the  reason  why  he  wanted  to  see  the  skull,  the 
curator  smiled  and  assured  him  he  need  go  no  farther, 
because  it  was  established  that  the  tiger  had  disappeared 
before  the  beginning  of  the  stone  age.  Stanley  was  not 
inclined  to  dispute  the  point;  he  simply  said  he  would 
like  to  see  the  skull  anyway.  The  curator  personally 
conducted  him  to  the  place  of  exhibit,  and  there,  to  the 
profound  surprise  of  the  curator,  they  found  embedded 
in  the  skull  the  blade  of  a  stone  axe — the  axe  that  had 
killed  the  tiger. 

On  that  day  there  occurred  a  chronological  introversion 
of  history  in  the  case  of  tigers  and  men.  Instead  of 
being  merely  an  extinct  creature  the  sabre-toothed  tiger 
was  promoted  to  association  with  the  human  race,  which 
promotion  undoubtedly  accelerated  real  extinction  at  a 
date  considerably  postponed. 

Stanley's  last  book  appeared  very  shortly  after  his 
death.  The  closing  chapters  had  been  left  in  skeleton, 
but  were  rounded  out  and  finished  by  his  intimate  friend 
and  Press  Club  fellow  member,  Harry  Irving  Greene, 
with  whom  he  had  been  in  consultation  over  it  and  who 
knew  Stanley's  style  so  well  that  he  was  enabled  to  pre- 
serve complete  continuity  in  Stanley's  own  vein  down  to 
the  end.  Stanley  may  be  said  to  have  set  a  style  among 
fiction  writers  whose  plots  include  things  scientific  or  ac- 
credited facts  in  history.  This  last  book  of  his  bears 
the  title  "A  Son  of  the  Ages."  An  episode  essential  to 
the  thread  of  the  narrative  necessitated  a  description  of 
Noah's  flood.  In  his  own  way  and  in  a  direction,  the 
possibilities  of  which  never  had  suggested  themselves  to 
the  Biblical  archaeologists,  he  established  the  fact  of 
that  flood  in  the  region  and  approximately  at  the  time 
dealt  with  in  the  book  of  Genesis.  Geological  research 
and  studies  of  ancient  land  and  water  distribution  dis- 
closed a  seismic  disturbance  then  and  thereabout,  in  which 
there  was  a  deep  depression  of  a  large  land  area  con- 


My  Chicago  101 

tiguous  to  a  sea  of  which  the  present  Mediterranean  is  a 
vestigial  remainder.  All  living  things  in  that  area  were 
drowned,  and  the  assumption  of  unusual  meteorological 
phenomena  may  be  granted,  or  at  least  needs  no  argu- 
ment. He  established,  further,  a  subsequent  upheaval 
of  the  area  submerged,  by  which  the  waters  were  thrown 
back  and  a  higher  land  surface  established.  This  per- 
fectly unconcerned  way  of  accounting  for  a  long  dis- 
puted event  rather  overtopped  the  performance  of 
Professor  Heilprecht  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania 
who  went  to  the  site  of  the  pre-Assyrian  city  of  Nipur, 
there  to  dig  for  records  that  would  confirm  the  Bible 
story.  Professor  Heilprecht  found  records  that  might 
be  construed  as  offering  such  a  confirmation,  which  was 
not  at  all  surprising,  because  there  are  records  or  fairly 
uniform  traditions  of  similar  floods  all  over  the  world; 
but  being  on  the  job  and  being  fired  with  professional 
zeal,  he  went  on  digging  until  he  had  uncovered  the  ruins 
of  other  buried  cities  under  Nipur,  of  an  easily  determined 
age  of  twelve  thousand  years,  and  showing  a  develop- 
ment that  could  not  have  been  reached  in  a  term  less 
than  twelve  thousand  preceding  years.  By  this  double 
discovery  Professor  Heilprecht  at  one  stroke  confirmed 
the  flood  and  destroyed  the  Mosaic  chronology.  The 
University  of  Pennsylvania  published  all  this  in  full  as 
conclusive  proof  of  Bible  truth,  somehow  overlooking 
the  effect  upon  that  same  truth  of  what  their  Professor 
had  done  to  the  other  Bible  truths,  as  affecting  the 
Mosaic  chronology.  Stanley  Waterloo  had  rather  the 
best  of  the  University,  but  Stanley  was  not  a  Presby- 
terian and  Professor  Heilprecht  was. 

Whenever  I  think  of  Stanley  there  appears  beside  him 
the  figure  of  Opie  Read.  For  a  large  part  of  their  lives 
these  two  were  inseparable.  Stanley  wrote  maybe  a 
dozen  books.  Opie  has  written  I  don't  know  how  many. 
He  came  to  public  notice  first  while  he  was  on  the  Little 


IO2  My  Chicago 

Rock  Gazette,  and  rose  to  national  reputation  as  editor 
of  the  Arkansaw  Traveller.  Since  then  he  has  been  on 
the  New  York  World,  the  Cleveland  Leader,  and  several 
Chicago  newspapers.  Of  late  he  has  been  doing  Chau- 
tauqua  work,  being  at  the  same  time  under  contract  for 
special  stories  with  The  Chicago  Evening  Journal.  His 
first  big  selling  books  embodied  his  knowledge  of 
Arkansas  and  Arkansas  characters.  His  stories  are 
purely  human,  sometimes  dramatic,  sometimes  episodic, 
but  always  interesting.  One  of  his  books,  "The  Juck- 
lins,"  published  about  thirty  years  ago,  has  up  to  this 
time  had  a  sale  of  around  two  million  copies.  He  has 
been  translated  into  all  the  languages  of  continental 
Europe  excepting  the  Russian,  but  including  the  Scandi- 
navian. The  Scandinavian  translation  was  made  by  a 
man  who  knew  English  on  the  Scandinavian  plan.  It 
was  a  pretty  good  translation  even  at  that,  but  the  trans- 
lator succeeded  in  correcting  an  error  in  the  author's 
name.  Now,  Opie's  name  is  Opie;  but  the  translator 
could  find  no  such  word  in  his  valuable  handbook,  nor 
his  English  dictionary,  therefore  to  him  it  was  clear  that 
the  English  printer  had  blundered.  He  knew  there  was 
such  a  word  as  Open.  Evidently  that  was  the  right  name. 
So  on  the  title  page  the  author's  name  appears  as  Open 
Read.  !" 

As  an  individual  Mr.  Read  enjoys  and  deserves  wide 
popularity.  A  formal  dinner  was  spread  in  his  honor 
in  the  Press  Club,  May  2,  1902.  Wallace  Bruce  Ams- 
bury,  whose  book,  "Ballads  of  the  Bourbonnais"  cele- 
brates the  habitant  population  of  the  Kankakee  region, 
much  as  Doctor  Drummond's  celebrated  the  habitant  of 
Quebec,  came  forward  at  that  dinner  with  the  toast  which 
faithfully  though  humorously  describes  the  man.  I  could 
not  do  better  than  quote  it  here: 

Dis  language  Anglaise  dat  dey  spe'k, 
On  State  of  Illinois, 


My  Chicago  103 

Is  hard  for  Frenchmen  heem  to  learn, 

It  give  me  moch  annoy. 
Las'  w'ek  ma  frien',  McGover^w^ 

He  com'  to  me  an'  say, 
You  mak'  a  toas'  on  Opie  Read 

Wen  dey  geeve  gran'  banquay. 

I  mak'  a  toas'?     Not  on  your  life, 

Dat'  man's  wan  frien'  of  me; 
Wat  for  I  warm  heem  op  lak'  toas' — 

De  reason  I  can't  see. 
An'  den  John  laugh  on  hees  eye 

Wen  he  is  to  me  say: 
"To  mak'  a  toas'  is  not  a  roas' 

It's  just  de  odder  way." 

Dat's  how  I  learn  dat  toas'  an  roas' 

Is  call  by  different  name, 
Dough  bot'  are  warm  in  dere  own  way, 

Dere  far  from  mean  de  same. 
An'  so  my  frien',  in  lof  I  clasp 

Your  gread  beeg  brawny  han', 
An'  share  vit  you  in  fellowship 

An'  pay  you  on  deman'. 

You're  built  opon  a  ver'  large  plan, 

Overe  seex  feet  you  rise; 
You  need  it  all  to  shelter  in 

Your  heart  dat's  double  size. 
You  are  too  broad  for  narrow  t'ings, 

Too  gr'ad  for  any  creed; 
I'll  eat  de  roas'  but  drink  de  toas' 

To  my  friend,  Opie  Read. 

It  may  be  insidious  to  say  with  too  much  assurance 
that  Waterford  Jack  was  the  first  lady  before  Cynthea 


104  My  Chicago 

Leonard  to  impress  her  personality,  her  principles  and 
her  methods  upon  the  public  life  of  this  city,  but  between 
Jack  and  the  dawn  of  Cynthea  were  many  years  unmarked 
by  feminine  influence  upon  public  affairs. 

Mrs.  Leonard  swooped  down  and  fluttered  the  dove- 
cotes of  our  Corioli  before  the  embers  of  the  great  fire 
had  ceased  to  smoulder.  While  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
all  of  her  ideas  were  fantastic,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
she  strove  for  their  realization  with  untiring  activity. 
Mrs.  Leonard  was  out  for  woman  suffrage  with  both 
hands  and  the  whole  of  her  volubility,  which  was  reverber- 
ant and  unceasing.  As  a  new  phenomenon  she  excited 
the  interest  and  exalted  the  joy  of  living  of  the  news- 
paper men,  who  gave  her  a  noble  liberality  of  newspaper 
space.  The  term  of  her  prominence  was  comparatively 
brief.  That  sort  of  thing  never  does  last  very  long. 
Her  one  contribution  to  the  world  at  large  was  her 
daughter  Lillian,  whom  we  know  as  Lillian  Russell. 

During  the  declension  of  her  mother  Lillian  emerged, 
a  girl  of  sixteen  or  thereabout,  at  first  a  tiny  star  in 
theatrical  skies,  and  mounted  swiftly  in  augmented  lustre 
to  that  place  in  the  zenith  which  she  still  holds.  Tony 
Pastor  discovered  her  and  gave  her  a  first  appearance 
at  his  theatre  in  Fourteenth  street,  New  York.  She  was 
and  is  a  singer  well  worth  hearing,  but  she  was  with- 
held from  becoming  an  actress  by  a  singular  limitation. 
Her  beauty  and  a  certain  subtle  emanation  that  could  not 
be  resisted  any  more  than  it  could  be  defined,  put  her 
across  the  footlights  into  great  and  enduring  popularity; 
but  an  inborn  reserve  somewhat  like  the  restraint  of  a 
great  lady  stood  between  her  and  any  adequate  expres- 
sion of  theatric  art. 

Another  interregnum:  and  who  is  this  we  see?  Tall, 
square  shouldered,  well  set  up,  vivacious,  black  eyed,  and 
as  Franc  Wilkie  described  her,  purple  haired;  distin- 
guished by  an  ability  to  write  things  that  never  were  dis- 


My  Chicago  105 

creet,  and  sometimes  were  astonishing.  What  was  it 
Charlotte  Perkins  advocated?  I  have  forgotten.  But 
she  held  the  stage,  down  center,  during  the  latter  half  of 
the  eighteen  eighties.  Then  for  a  time  she  was  obscured, 
to  emerge  again  somewhat  subdued,  rather  dignified,  and 
otherwise  improved.  She  is  Mrs.  Charlotte  Perkins  Gil- 
man  now,  and  is  lecturing  and  writing,  creditably. 


Chapter  Twelve 

OR  some  time  I  had  become  much  interested 
in  Reinhart's  productions  of  The  Miracle 
and  Shakespearean  plays  in  Berlin  and  in 
May,  1914,  I  sailed  for  Paris  enroute  to 
Germany,  actuated  largely  by  my  desire  to 
see  some  of  his  work.  After  a  month  spent  in  Paris  I 
started  in  company  with  my  friends  the  Ralph  Clarksons 
on  a  leisurely  trip  to  Berlin.  On  reaching  Heidelberg 
I  received  a  telegram  from  George  Hamlin,  who  had 
learned  of  my  plans  in  Paris  telling  me  that  I  must  go 
to  Berlin  at  once  in  order  to  see  the  two  last  performances 
to  be  given  by  Reinhart  that  season.  I  gave  up  a  visit 
to  Leipsic,  to  which  I  had  looked  forward  with  interest 
because  among  other  things  there  I  should  see  the  original 
of  Bocklein's  "The  Isle  of  Death"  which  for  years  I 
had  greatly  longed  to  see,  and  took  the  first  train  for 
Berlin.  Upon  my  arrival  I  went  to  a  pension  Krause 
where  I  secured  a  charming  apartment  and  sallied  forth 
in  search  of  a  seat  for  the  play  which  on  that  night  was 
The  Miracle. 

The  demand  for  seats  was  so  great,  altho  this 
spectacular  play  was  given  in  what  formerly  had  been  a 
skating  rink  transformed  into  a  theatre  for  this  produc- 
tion and  seating  between  five  and  six  thousand  persons, 


io6  My  Chicago 

for  a  time  I  was  in  a  state  of  mind  bordering  on  despair 
because  the  finding  of  even  a  single  seat  seemed  hopeless. 
Just  as  I  was  about  to  give  up  the  hunt,  I  chanced  to 
meet  an  old  Chicago  newspaper  friend  who  in  some  mys- 
terious way  produced  not  only  a  seat  for  that'  night's 
performance  but  also  one  for  the  production  of  Twelfth 
Night  which  was  given  at  the  celebrated  Deutches  Theatre 
the  next  night. 

It  surely  was  a  novel  experience  and  a  somewhat  ex- 
citing one  to  be  driven  alone  through  the  streets  of  Berlin 
the  route  to  the  theatre  taking  me  through  the  Thier- 
garten,  and  by  many  of  the  enumerable  statues  which 
line  the  streets  in  every  direction.  Then  to  find  myself 
seated  in  the  midst  of  the  great  audience  in  which  I  did 
not  find  a  single  face  that  I  had  ever  seen  before,  but  as 
soon  as  the  curtain  went  up  on  the  opening  scene  I  was 
completely  absorbed  in  the  wonders  of  the  production 
which  surpassed  anything  I  had  seen  with  its  two  thousand 
people  and  two  hundred  horses  besides  mules,  dogs,  etc., 
in  the  cast.  Frau  Krause  had  provided  me  with  a  card 
on  which  was  printed  her  name  and  address — a  neces- 
sary precaution  as  my  knowledge  of  German  was  too 
limited  to  insure  my  safe  return  to  the  Pension. 

On  the  following  night  I  attended  the  performance  of 
Twelfth  Night  which  closed  the  Reinhart  season.  The 
performance  was  one  of  extreme  interest  to  me.  In  fact 
it  is  difficult  for  me  to  express  all  that  I  got  out  of  it. 
I  had  considered  myself  well  acquainted  with  the  play 
in  all  its  details,  having  taught  it  for  many  years,  and 
having  seen  notable  productions  of  it  in  America,  but 
as  the  curtain  rose  and  the  setting  of  the  stage  for  the 
opening  scene  was  revealed  I  was  convinced  that  I  was 
to  see  something  very  different  from  any  production  of 
the  play  I  had  ever  seen  before.  The  setting  was  a  shal- 
low one  showing  a  sanded  beach  shore  in  the  extreme 
foreground,  with  just  the  hull  of  the  ship  in  view  show- 


My  Chicago  107 

ing  the  captain,  some  sailors  and  Viola  whose  entire 
figure  including  her  head  and  most  of  her  face  was  con- 
cealed by  a  dark  hooded  cape,  as  she  stepped  on  shore 
asking,  What  country's  this?  The  illusion  was  so  start- 
lingly  real,  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  it  was  not  true. 
I  recalled  a  presentation  of  that  scene  given  years  ago 
at  the  Grand  Opera  House  when  the  stage  was  so  over- 
loaded with  scenery  that  it  looked  like  a  store  house  and 
Miss  Viola  Allen  dressed  in  the  most  gorgeous  be- 
spangled costume  ascended  a  flight  of  steps  from  a  full 
fledged  vessel  and  with  broad  and  sweeping  voice  and 
pantomime  inquired  What — country's — this  ?  I  had  seen 
sufficient  to  know  that  the  fame  which  Reinhart  had 
achieved  was  deserved.  The  whole  play  was  remarkable 
in  its  reality  and  truth. 

The  character  of  the  Lady  Olivia  played  in  America 
by  a  socalled  first  lead  to  the  star  and  a  very  negative 
one  at  that,  on  this  occasion  by  a  sterling  actress  possessed 
of  beauty  and  charm.  The  lady  was  permitted  to  move 
about  as  though  she  actually  lived  in  her  own  house,  a 
privilege  which  I  had  never  seen  accorded  her  before, 
Maria  was  a  revelation.  Instead  of  a  pert  saucy  com- 
monplace miss,  in  this  case  she  was  represented  as  a  girl 
who  had  been  born  and  reared  in  the  household  accus- 
tomed to  the  vulgar  improprieties  of  Sir  Toby  and  An- 
drew Aguecheek  but  entirely  unaffected  by  their  familiar- 
ity, joining  somewhat  in  their  ribaldry  and  laughter  yet 
holding  herself  aloof  from  too  much  presumption  on 
their  part,  I  was  greatly  impressed  with  her  pictorially. 
I  had  always  seen  Maria  on  the  stage  as  a  saucy  brunette 
of  a  cheap  type.  This  girl  was  fair  with  her  blonde 
hair  parted  in  the  middle  and  falling  to  her  waist  in 
two  braids.  Her  costume  was  dull  greys  and  blues  and 
altogether  she  was  a  distinct  and  pleasing  feature  of  the 
play. 

Malvolio  too  was  represented  as  having  the  distinc- 


io8  My  Chicago 

tive  qualities  which  the  text  calls  for  quite  distinct  from 
the  extreme  finicky  and  impossible  character  depicted  by 
Sir  Henry  Irving  and  others. 

The  Clarksons  reached  Berlin  before  my  departure  and 
joined  me  at  the  Pension.  Miss  Katherine  Winterbotham 
of  Chicago,  now  Mrs.  Thompson  Buchanan  of  New 
York,  was  spending  the  year  there  pursuing  her  musical 
studies  with  Frank  King  Clark,  who  previously  had  been 
a  successful  singer  and  teacher  in  Chicago.  One  evening 
Mr.  Clark  gave  a  soiree  in  his  Studio  which  we  all  at- 
tended, and  where  we  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Howard  Wells, 
George  Hamlin,  his  wife  and  daughter,  Miss  Walton  and 
so  many  other  artists  and  friends  that  it  seemed  almost 
like  a  home  reception.  Alas !  the  breaking  out  of  the  war 
closed  the  beautiful  studio  and  within  a  year  poor  Frank 
died,  and  all  the  coterie  that  was  assembled  there  that 
evening  had  returned  to  Chicago. 

From  Berlin  I  went  to  Carlsbad  and  stopped  enroute 
to  visit  the  then  celebrated  Dalcroze  School  just  outside 
Dresden.  The  school  building  resembling  a  Greek  temple 
stood  on  a  high  eminence  and  had  with  its  equipment 
cost  a  million  dollars  which  had  been  subscribed  by  dev- 
otees of  Dalcroze  who  had  known  him  and  his  work  in 
Geneva  and  Paris.  The  interior  which  had  been  de- 
signed with  special  reference  to  the  accommodation  of 
large  classes  in  physical  culture  and  dancing  and  which 
included  a  small  theatre,  was  uniformly  decorated  in  sand 
color,  with  here  and  there  curtains  and  draperies  of  flame 
color  of  soft  and  simple  fabric  the  whole  thing  produc- 
ing a  modern  and  artistic  effect  which  quite  delighted  me. 
I  had  had  considerable  difficulty  in  gaining  permission 
to  visit  the  school  as  visitors  were  being  scrutinized 
closely,  many  having  carried  away  the  distinctive  features 
of  the  classes  and  introducing  them  wherever  they  lived 
without  giving  credit  to  Dalcroze.  Alas !  the  war  brought 


My  Chicago  109 

this  enterprise  to  a  speedy  close  and  I  believe  the  build- 
ings have  since  been  used  as  a  hospital. 

From  Dresden  I  went  to  Carlsbad  for  a  month's  stay 
and  while  there  a  brother  of  Fredrick  Charles,  Arch 
Duke  of  Austria  while  playing  on  the  golf  links  received 
news  of  the  shooting  of  his  brother  which  proved  to  be 
the  touching  of  the  button  which  set  the  German  war 
forces  in  motion.  Nothing  alarming  happened  for  a  few 
days,  altho  rumors  of  war  filled  the  air.  It  was  only 
when  Mrs.  Baxter  of  Evanston  and  I  reached  Zurich 
on  our  way  to  Lucerne  that  matters  begun  to  assume  a 
more  threatening  aspect.  There  the  streets  were  filled 
with  soldiers  and  indications  seemed  ominous.  However 
we  travelled  the  length  of  lovely  Lake  Constance  after 
our  visit  to  Zurich  and  enjoyed  in  tranquillity  the  battle- 
ments and  towers  "Which  have  stood  above  Lake  Con- 
stance, a  thousand  years  and  more."  When  we  reached 
the  Hotel  Nazionale  at  Lucerne  matters  begun  to  look 
grave.  Groups  of  people  were  huddled  together  and 
talking  in  low  tones,  gravely  shaking  their  heads,  as  the 
necessity  for  getting  to  England  safely  seemed  imminent, 
Mrs.  Baxter  had  occasion  to  return  to  Germany  and 
wished  me  to  accompany  her  but  I  decided  to  yield  to 
the  importunities  of  the  Clarksons  to  join  them  at  Lake 
Como.  I  left  Lucerne  at  9  A.  M.  on  the  morning  of 
August  first.  When  the  train  reached  Lugano  a  man 
in  military  attire  came  on  board  and  took  a  seat  near 
me.  He  told  me  that  war  between  Germany  and  France 
had  been  declared  and  that  he  had  just  taken  leave  of 
his  family  and  was  off  to  war.  When  I  reached  Tremezzo 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clarkson  were  on  the  wharf  as  the  steamer 
landed.  Mr.  Clarkson  had  just  received  a  paper  which 
contained  alarming  dispatches.  In  twenty-four  hours  we 
found  ourselves  to  be  comparative  prisoners,  that  is  we 
could  not  get  to  either  France  or  England.  Our  only 
hope  of  escape  to  America  was  from  Genoa  or  Naples. 


no  My  Chicago 

Anxious  days  followed  as  continued  news  of  war  became 
more  and  more  threatening.  We  could  neither  cable 
home  nor  receive  cable  messages  for  a  time.  We  had 
very  little  money  and  could  get  none.  We  were  so  panic 
stricken  that  we  refused  to  spend  money  enough  to  get 
a  little  alcohol  with  which  to  make  afternoon  tea  or  to  buy 
a  round  trip  ticket  to  Belaggio  which  cost  only  thirteen 
cents.  On  the  first  day  of  my  arrival  I  had  been  reck- 
less and  spent  a  quarter  to  see  the  interior  of  Car- 
lotta  the  finest  villa  on  Lake  Como.  It  nearly  ad- 
joined the  hotel  and  its  present  owner  allowed  visitors 
to  see  the  grounds  and  entrance  hall  which  contained  some 
mural  decorations  by  Thorwaldsen  and  the  original  statue 
of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  the  money  received  being  given  to 
charity. 

Our  anxieties  increased  day  by  day.  Finally  Mr. 
Clarkson  and  I  together  with  others  decided  to  go  to 
Milan  and  try  to  get  some  money  on  our  letters  of  credit 
or  the  Chicago  First  National  bank  checks  which  I  car- 
ried. We  could  get  none  as  nothing  but  Cooke's  checks 
were  being  cashed  anywhere.  We  however  secured  the 
promise  of  obtaining  some  money  a  little  later.  Mr. 
Clarkson  had  been  in  constant  communication  with  the 
steamship  offices  in  Milan,  Naples  and  Genoa,  hoping 
to  get  passage  for  himself,  Mrs.  Clarkson  and  me  as  day 
by  day  the  possibility  of  getting  home  looked  more  and 
more  dubious,  together  with  the  fact  that  Italy  might 
at  any  moment  be  drawn  into  the  war  making  our  escape 
more  difficult  and  more  hazardous.  He  finally  received 
word  that  a  small  Italian  steamer  which  had  been  reno- 
vated and  fitted  up  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  Ameri- 
cans to  New  York  was  about  to  sail  from  Naples  and 
there  were  three  berths  to  be  had  in  the  steerage.  This 
opportunity  Mr.  Clarkson  saw  fit  to  decline,  largely  on 
account  of  the  inferiority  of  the  vessel  and  that  it  would 
mean  being  separated  from  Mrs.  Clarkson  during  the 


My  Chicago  in 

voyage.  I,  however,  was  impressed  with  the  advisability 
of  taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity  as  the  chances 
for  getting  home  were  becoming  less  and  less  each  day. 
Tickets  could  not  be  reserved  by  telegraph,  so  I  was 
obliged  to  go  to  Genoa  to  secure  my  passage.  I  stopped 
at  Milan  enroute  and  there  held  a  conference  with  George 
Hamlin  and  Norman  Mason,  son  of  my  friends  the  A.  O. 
Masons  of  Highland  Park  who  were  then  looking  for 
sailing  accommodations  for  themselves  and  families. 
George  told  me  he  hated  to  see  me  start  off  alone  in  such 
an  undesirable  boat  but  I  made  up  my  mind  that  under 
any  conditions  my  mind  would  be  more  tranquil  if  I 
were  journeying  toward  home,  so  I  continued  on  my  way. 

When  I  reached  Genoa  to  my  great  joy  I  encountered 
a  piece  of  good  luck.  A  South  American  steamer  had 
been  chartered  by  some  wealthy  Americans  and  was  sail- 
ing the  next  morning  and  I  could  get  passage  on  it.  It 
seemed  almost  too  good  to  be  true.  It  was  a  memorable 
trip.  We  were  holding  our  breath  until  we  passed 
Gibraltar  as  there  were  reports  of  the  danger  of  being 
turned  back  if  Italy  were  to  declare  war  which  seemed 
probable  at  any  moment.  However  we  passed  the  great 
rock  in  safety  and  settled  down  to  recover  from  the  weeks 
of  anxiety  and  to  enjoy  the  trip. 

The  Rev.  Freeman  of  Minneapolis  was  a  passenger 
and  conducted  services  in  the  large  salon  on  each  of  the 
two  Sundays  we  were  on  shipboard.  On  each  occasion 
we  attempted  to  sing  America  but  our  voices  were  choked 
by  emotion,  the  first  time  because  we  had  fears  of  never 
seeing  our  beloved  land  again,  the  second  time  because 
we  were  so  overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  it.  I  was  guilty  of 
throwing  kisses  to  a  huge  sign  of  Kirk's  American  Family 
Soap  which  was  the  first  familiar  sight  which  my  eyes 
rested  on  as  we  sailed  into  New  York  Harbor  early 
on  the  morning  of  the  last  day  of  August.  It  looked  good 
to  me  for  more  reasons  than  one. 


ii2  My  Chicago 

I  expected  when  I  reached  Chicago  to  find  the  members 
of  my  family  in  an  emaciated  condition  on  account  of 
having  worried  about  my  ever  getting  home.  To  my 
disappointment  and  somewhat  to  my  disgust  they  told 
me  they  had  not  worried  at  all,  they  knew  I  would  man- 
age to  get  home  somehow. 

The  Clarksons  followed  in  another  boat  two  weeks 
later. 


Chapter  Thirteen 

R.  CLARKSON  had  gone  abroad  largely  in 
the  interests  of  the  Art  Institute,  and  his 
work  had  not  been  half  done  when  the  war 
stopped  it.  For  a  number  of  years  he  had 
been  and  still  is  active  in  committee  work  of 
various  kinds,  and  has  not  only  contributed  to  the  gallery 
many  of  his  own  artistic  canvases,  but  has  helped  in 
securing  some  of  the  most  valuable  contributions  that 
have  been  made  by  other  artists.  He  is  continuing  those 
activities,  and  undoubtedly  will  continue  them  to  the  end 
of  his  days. 

Practically  all  the  more  distinguished  painters  who 
lived  in  Chicago  during  the  last  forty  years  or  more  were 
members  of  the  Art  Institute.  G.  P.  A.  Healy,  who  rose 
to  be  a  celebrity  was  one  of  these.  So  also  was  Leonard 
W.  Volk,  the  sculptor,  L.  E.  Earl,  and  E.  F.  Bigelow. 
Henry  F.  Spread,  Charles  A.  Corwin,  Oliver  Dennett 
Grover,  John  F.  Vanderpool,  Charles  Francis  Browne, 
Frederick  Freer,  Lorado  Taft,  Ralph  Clarkson,  Fred 
Richardson,  Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour  and  Mrs.  Herman 
Hall,  are  among  the  most  important  instructors  the 
school  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  get.  Prominent 
artists  from  other  cities  have  been  brought  here  to  aid 


My  Chicago  113 

in  its  work.  Charles  Francis  Browne,  Pauline  Palmer, 
Louis  Betts,  Harriet  Blackstone,  and  Cecil  Clark  Davis 
are  familiar  names  in  its  history. 

The  success  which  the  Art  Institute  has  always  met  with 
is  due  first  to  its  central  location,  and  second  to  the  co- 
operation of  the  large  number  of  prominent  citizens  of 
Chicago  who  are  annual  members.  The  membership  and 
that  of  the  school  exceeds  that  of  any  museum  in  the 
country  and  the  attendance  also  exceeds  that  of  any 
museum  in  the  United  States. 

I  am  not  going  to  write  a  categorical  account  of  the  Art 
Institute  and  its  various  stages  of  progress,  but  I  have 
been  in  close  contact  with  it  through  most  of  its  life ;  and 
it  means  so  much  to  me,  even  as  it  must  mean  to  many 
others,  that  I  would  like  to  give  a  little  side  light  upon 
its  earlier  days,  and  particularly  upon  the  beginnings  of 
its  really  fine  gallery  of  paintings. 

James  H.  Dole,  of  the  firm  of  Armour-Dole  and  Com- 
pany, was  one  of  the  most  influential  men  in  the  group 
that  originated  the  old  exposition  enterprise,  and  built 
the  Exposition  Hall  on  the  lake  front  site  now  occupied 
by  the  Art  Institute  Building.  Mr.  Dole  was  an  unusual 
man  in  many  ways. 

He  had  been  highly  successful  in  his  commercial  occu- 
p^ations,  but  these  occupations  were  by  no  means  his  prin- 
cipal interest  in  life.  He  had  a  native  perception  in  the 
graphic  arts,  and  was  ready  at  all  times  with  his  in- 
fluence and  his  money  to  advance  the  development  of 
art  locally.  It  was  through  his  effort  that  an  art  exhibit 
was  added  to  the  others  in  the  old  exposition,  and  to  this 
exhibit  he  gave  great  and  sympathetic  care. 

From  year  to  year  he  continued  to  get  together  meri- 
torious paintings,  until  the  exposition  gallery  became  a 
recognized  feature.  That  collection  became  the  nucleus 
of  the  Art  Institute  gallery  we  know  today.  I  am  not 
far  out  of  the  way,  if  at  all,  in  crediting  Mr.  Dole  with 


H4  My  Chicago 

the  more  potent  share  in  that  work  which  took  up  the 
old  Art  School  and  Academy  of  Design  that  had  begun 
in  1867  and  was  snuffed  out  temporarily  when  the  Crosby 
Opera  House  was  destroyed  in  the  fire  of  1871.  Mr. 
Dole  helped  bring  it  back  when  the  city  was  rebuilt; 
and  in  that  process  the  Art  School,  the  Academy  of  De- 
sign, and  the  Exposition  gallery  were  naturally  brought 
together  as  a  permanent  institution. 

He  was  a  reticent  man,  ceaseless  in  doing  good  and 
never  so  much  annoyed  as  when  publicity  was  thrust  upon 
him.  He  became  a  first  rate  judge  of  paintings,  though 
his  education  began  with  minus.  He  was  entirely  candid 
about  this — so  candid  that  he  disclosed  it  in  his  own 
private  collection. 

He  had  a  beautiful  home  in  Dearborn  avenue,  close  by 
Oak  street.  In  this  house  he  had  built  a  large  and  beau- 
tifully lighted  long  room  for  an  art  gallery  of  his  own. 
The  first  picture  to  the  left  as  you  entered  the  room  was 
the  first  picture  he  ever  bought.  The  last  picture  on  your 
left,  as  you  passed  out  again,  was  his  latest  purchase. 
The  gradual  rise  in  quality  disclosed  by  the  purchases 
between  the  first  and  the  last  was  astonishing,  but  while 
the  earlier  pictures  were  crude  some  of  them  dauby,  all  of 
them  and  all  the  others  down  to  the  latest  had  in  them 
a  living  touch.  He  never  bought  a  picture,  of  any  degree, 
that  had  not  in  it  something  that  would  stir  an  emotion 
or  set  in  movement  a  train  of  thought  sufficient  to  carry 
you  away  from  the  grosser  things  of  life  for  the  moment 
at  least. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  in  the  power  to  do  this 
lies  the  real  definition  of  art,  in  any  of  its  various  forms. 
The  technical  skill  employed  in  a  painting  counts  for 
much  in  its  own  way,  but  by  itself  never  made  any  picture 
great;  whereas  not  even  slovenly  execution  can  obscure 
the  virtue  of  a  painting  that  has  a  fundamental  element 
of  truth. 


My  Chicago  115 


I  do  not  know  what  became  of  Mr.  Dole's  gallery. 
I  think  some  of  the  pictures,  especially  a  Fortuny,  are  in 
the  Art  Institute  gallery,  but  the  rest  have  been  scattered 
by  the  scattering  of  his  family.  He  died  but  a  few 
years  back.  In  all  his  useful  life  he  carefully,  sensitively, 
avoided  impressing  himself  or  the  things  he  did  upon  the 
public  mind,  so  that  I  am  not  sure  he  is  remembered 
outside  a  circle  whose  diameter  slowly  decreases  as  the 
old  men  die  who  were  his  contemporaries.  But  I  am 
sure  his  memory  is  tenderly  cherished  by  many  artists 
now  prominent  both  here  and  abroad,  to  whose  early 
efforts  he  gave  sympathetic  encouragement. 

Of  the  artists  I  have  named  above,  the  one  who  was 
nearest  Mr.  Dole  was  L.  C.  Earl.  Earl  at  that  time 
had  climbed  so  high  in  public  notice  that  New  York  had 
begun  to  call  him.  Along  about  the  middle  eighties  he 
went  there.  He  was  the  first  American  painter  sought, 
with  good  results,  by  the  Prang  concern  of  Boston.  The 
Prangs  had  for  some  time  been  reproducing  works  of 
Art  by  the  mechanical  process  known  as  chromo-lithog- 
raphy.  Earl  had  painted  a  picture  showing  a  city  sports- 
man with  a  most  elaborate  and  expansive  equipment  but 
no  birds,  in  negotiation  with  a  one-gallus,  barefoot 
country  boy  who  carried  a  sawed-off,  single  barrel,  muzzle 
loading  shotgun,  and  had  a  string  of  about  fifty  ducks. 
The  ground  was  marshy,  the  skies  were  grey  and  the 
daylight  fading.  The  city  sportsman's  hand  was  in  his 
pocket.  The  story  told  itself. 

I  don't  know  what  they  paid  Earl  for  the  right  to 
reproduce  it;  but  whatever  it  may  have  been  it  was  noth- 
ing compared  with  what  it  brought  them.  They  sold  over 
two  million  copies  of  the  reproduction. 

Among  the  artists  grouped  about  the  Art  Institute, 
Lorado  Taft  is  probably  the  most  widely  known  out- 
side Chicago.  This  is  no  derogation  of  the  others,  but 
a  fact  referable  to  Mr.  Taft's  peculiarly  adroit  method 


ii6  My  Chicago 

of  evoking  criticism  and  controversy  in  matters  where  he 
knows  he  is  going  to  come  out  on  top.  Mr.  Taft  has 
more  than  once  had  New  York  about  his  ears  and 
profited  by  the  assault.  New  York  being  an  art  storm 
center,  whatever  goes  a-howling  there  is  heard  all  over 
the  continent.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  for  this  reason, 
and  aside  from  his  undeniable  merit,  Mr.  Taft's  reputa- 
tion is  national. 

The  achievement  by  which  perhaps  he  is  best  known 
is  the  towering,  almost  sentient  figure  of  Chief  Black 
Hawk  that  stands  upon  an  eminence  near  the  town  of 
Oregon.  Aside  from  its  size  and  its  prominence  in  the 
landscape  it  is  a  significant  and  worthy  art  work.  From 
its  completion  only  a  few  years  ago,  it  has  had  a  wide- 
spread post  card  celebrity.  It  has  the  peculiar  distinc- 
tion of  standing  close  by  the  home  of  Frank  O.  Lowden, 
who  at  the  time  of  this  writing  is  Governor  of  Illinois, 
and  who  for  the  part  of  his  life  thus  far  lived  and  the 
part  as  yet  unlived  stands  and  will  stand  as  one  of  the 
great  men  of  the  west. 

Associated  with  the  Art  Institute  are  the  names  of 
Charles  L.  Hutchinson,  W.  M.  R.  French,  and  N.  H. 
Carpenter.  Mr.  French  gave  the  best  that  was  in  him 
to  the  Institute  and  its  operations  through  many  years, 
up  to  his  death  in  1914. 

Charles  L.  Hutchinson  has  been  president  of  the  asso- 
ciation since  1882,  and  before  that  time  had  been  a 
director  and  a  most  ardent  promoter  of  its  best  interests. 
It  is  a  fortunate  and  infrequent  thing  when  a  man  is  found 
who  combines  genius  in  finance  with  a  love  of  art  and  who 
is  willing  to  put  his  combined  powers  back  of  an  estab- 
lishment like  this.  We  all  know  what  the  Art  Institute 
has  become,  how  much  it  means  in  this  community  and 
the  western  states,  but  we  do  not  know  how  much  of  its 
standing  and  influence  it  owes  to  Mr.  Hutchinson.  This 
much  is  clear:  that  without  his  devoted  and  unselfish 


Charles  L.  Hutchinson. 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


My  Chicago  117 

interest  and  activity  it  would  be  far  short  of  what  it 
actually  is. 

Something  of  the  same  nature  can  be  said  of  Mr.  N. 
H.  Carpenter,  who  was  with  the  Institute  since  its  or- 
ganization as  Secretary,  Director  and  Business  Manager 
— the  latter  office,  held  for  forty  years.  A  record  any 
man  might  be  proud  of.  Mr.  Carpenter  died  May  27, 
1918. 

Mr.  Frederic  Clay  Bartlett  and  Mr.  Howard  Van 
Doren  Shaw  have  been  prominent  among  the  workers  on 
the  board  of  the  Art  Institute  and  are  men  of  artistic  sense 
and  achievement,  Mr.  Shaw's  "civic  center"  recently  built 
in  Lake  Forest  being  important  in  its  effect. 

Other  prominent  men  associated  with  the  Institute 
in  various  capacities  are  Martin  L.  Ryerson,  William  O. 
Goodman,  Frank  G.  Logan,  and  Dr.  Frank  W.  Gun- 
saulus. 


Chapter  Fourteen 

MONG  the  distinguished  foreign  painters  to 
visit  Chicago  and  the  Art  Institute  in  1904 
was  Blommers,  the  great  Dutch  painter  who 
shares  honors  with  Israel  and  Maude.  I 
met  Blommers  and  his  wife  in  Ralph  Clark- 
son's  studio,  and  found  we  had  much  in  common.  He 
urged  me  to  visit  them  at  the  Hague  whenever  I  came 
to  Holland.  Another  important  visitor  to  Chicago  about 
that  time  was  Signer  Biazi,  Librarian  of  the  Laurentian 
Library  in  Florence.  He  came  to  my  Studios  and  ex- 
pressed much  interest  in  the  work  being  done  at  that 
time.  It  happened  that  occasion  took  me  to  Florence 
two  years  later.  Soon  after  my  arrival  there  I  paid  a 
visit  to  Signer  Biazi  at  the  library,  which  my  readers 


ii8  My  Chicago 

will  recall  was  designed  by  Michel  Angelo  and  contains 
a  wonderful  collection  of  books,  early  manuscripts,  and 
hand  engravings  of  priceless  value. 

Signer  Biazi  received  me  with  the  utmost  cordiality. 
When  recalling  his  visit  to  Chicago  and  the  work  he  had 
seen  in  my  Studios  he  suddenly  exclaimed, 

"You  must  be  entertained  by  our  dramatic  school 
while  you  are  here.  It  is  a  state  institution  of  importance. 
Salvini  is  one  of  its  directors." 

Whereupon  he  went  to  the  telephone  and  had  a  talk 
with  Signer  Luigi,  head  of  the  school,  with  the  result 
that  a  formal  invitation  was  sent  me  at  my  hotel  for 
the  following  afternoon,  signed  by  the  Director  of  the 
Royal  School  of  Art. 

The  program  which  had  been  arranged  for  my  enter- 
tainment was  given  in  a  small  theatre,  a  part  of  the 
school's  equipment.  Naturally  I  was  keenly  interested 
in  seeing  the  work  of  an  Italian  school,  especially  one 
of  such  recognized  importance.  At  that  time  I  was  im- 
bued with  the  idea  that  Italians  were  to  be  relied  upon 
for  truthful  pantomime  and  action  correctly  supplement- 
ing the  thought  expressed  by  the  voice,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  note  that  the  performers  in  the  plays  indulged 
in  as  much  excess  and  unrelated  action  as  that  observed 
in  our  American  students. 

Signer  Luigi  confided  to  me  that  a  young  woman, 
their  most  gifted  pupil,  was  so  nervous  that  she  could  not 
be  induced  to  appear  before  Salvini  and  myself.  I  re- 
quested an  introduction  and  engaged  her  in  conversation 
so  far  as  my  knowledge  of  Italian  would  permit,  and 
finally  asked  her  to  tell  me  about  some  object  which 
stood  upon  the  stage.  She  accompanied  me  there  with- 
out the  slightest  hesitation.  I  walked  about  on  the  stage 
with  her  until  unconsciously  she  grew  accustomed  to  me 
and  the  audience  below,  and  then  I  whispered  to  her  the 
advantage  it  undoubtedly  would  be  to  her  to  recite  for 


My  Chicago  119 

Salvini.  After  a  slight  hesitation  she  did  recite,  and  very 
well,  with  almost  the  expression  and  subtle  quality  of 
Duse.  I  never  heard  how  she  got  on.  After  this  I  talked 
to  the  school  and  gave  several  monologues  and  recita- 
tions, among  them  being  Othello's  apology,  which  I  had 
heard  Salvini  recite  in  McVicker's  Theatre  some  years 
before. 

I  left  the  theatre  on  the  arm  of  Salvini,  who  escorted 
me  to  my  carriage,  which  I  found  had  been  filled  with 
roses  by  the  directors  and  students  of  the  school.  For 
once  in  my  life  I  felt  like  a  Patti  or  a  Bernhardt.  The 
next  day  I  received  an  invitation  to  remain  in  Florence 
as  an  instructor  in  the  school.  But  my  devotion  to 
America  and  home  was  too  great  for  me  to  consider  the 
offer,  flattering  though  it  was. 

Some  time  before  reaching  Florence  I  had  accepted 
an  invitation  to  go  to  Cologne  and  visit  my  friend  Mrs. 
H.  M.  Millard  of  Highland  Park,  and  her  daughter, 
Mrs.  Hugo  Fisher,  then  as  now  a  resident  of  Cologne. 
I  had  a  most  enjoyable  visit.  I  remember  the  first  time 
I  saw  the  cathedral.  It  was  on  a  beautiful  moonlight 
night.  I  was  so  overcome  by  its  impressive  architecture 
that  I  could  hardly  resist  prostrating  myself  before  it, 
so  great  was  its  spiritual  effect  upon  me. 

It  chanced  that  this  year,  1906,  the  tri-centennial  of 
Rembrandt  was  being  celebrated  with  great  pomp  in  Am- 
sterdam. I  recalled  the  Blommers  invitation  to  visit  them 
should  I  be  in  the  neighborhood,  so  I  dispatched  a  note 
asking  them  to  send  a  reply  to  the  American  hotel  in 
Amsterdam.  On  my  arrival  there  a  few  days  later  the 
porter  informed  me  that  he  hadn't  a  vacant  room,  at 
which  I  muttered  to  myself  something  about  Blommers, 
whereupon  he  informed  me  that  Mr.  Blommers  and  his 
wife  were  in  the  hotel.  I  was  more  disappointed  than 
ever  to  be  unable  to  remain  there,  but  acted  upon  the 
porter's  advice  and  drove  to  another  hotel,  where  I  was 


I2O  My  Chicago 

only  able  to  obtain  meager  accommodations,  the  city 
being  so  crowded.  After  dinner  as  I  stood  at  the  tele- 
phone, some  one  pulled  my  sleeve.  I  turned  and  saw  an 
old  pupil  from  Des  Moines  whom  I  had  not  met  for 
several  years.  Being  more  or  less  of  a  tuft-hunter  she 
was  eager  to  accompany  me  to  call  on  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Blommers.  It  was  the  last  night  of  the  celebration. 
The  streets  were  full  of  revelers,  many  in  masquerade, 
and  all  bent  on  making  the  most  of  the  occasion.  It  was 
impossible  to  obtain  a  carriage.  As  we  stood  in  the  door 
of  the  hotel  two  American  youths  who  happened  to  over- 
hear our  conversation  offered  to  escort  us  to  a  car  which 
would  take  us  to  the  American  hotel.  We  were  glad 
to  accept  their  polite  attention. 

As  we  stepped  into  the  hotel  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blommers 
entered  from  an  opposite  door.  Although  he  had  not 
received  my  letter,  he  came  to  me  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  exclaiming,  "Miss  Morgan  of  Chicago !"  He 
at  once  ordered  some  refreshments.  When  I  told  him 
we  proposed  going  to  the  Isle  of  Marken  the  next  day 
he  said, 

"Oh  no,  go  with  us  to  the  Art  Galleries  tomorrow. 
We  will  all  go  to  Marken  next  day." 

It  was  a  great  privilege  as  well  as  a  great  pleasure 
to  view  the  pictures  with  him  and  get  his  ideas  concerning 
them.  Being  a  conventional  painter  of  little  children  and 
domestic  scenes — such  as  a  mother  rocking  her  baby  in 
its  cradle,  or  holding  it  up  to  view  a  parrot  in  a  cage; 
or  groups  of  little  boys  playing  on  the  seashore.  He 
had  no  tolerance  of  ideal  painters  like  Bocklin  and 
Thoma,  who  drew  largely  upon  their  imagination.  Not- 
withstanding my  expressed  admiration  of  them  he  told 
me  they  were  a  crazy  lot.  A  special  room  had  been  pro- 
vided for  Rembrandt's  "The  Night  Watch,"  an  honor 
to  which  every  great  work  is  entitled,  and  which  thereto- 


My  Chicago  121 

fore,  so  far  as  I  know,  had  only  been  accorded  "The 
Sistine  Madonna"  and  the  "Venus  de  Milo." 

We  were  certainly  repaid  for  our  visit  to  Marken 
the  next  day.  Never  have  I  seen  any  place  so  primitive, 
so  distinctive.  The  houses  consisted  chiefly  of  one  room, 
each  of  which  contained  all  necessaries  for  a  family  of 
perhaps  five  or  six,  space  being  gained  by  the  beds  closed 
up  against  the  wall.  The  women  wore  quaint  figured 
gowns,  muslin  caps  and  dainty  aprons,  all  scrupulously, 
even  painfully  clean.  The  chief  object  in  life  of  those 
women  evidently  was  to  keep  themselves  and  their  homes 
immaculate,  and  they  succeeded. 

I  spent  the  next  day  at  the  Hague,  leaving  in  the  after- 
noon for  Holland,  where  I  was  to  cross  over  to  London. 
I  stopped  for  a  couple  of  hours  en  route  at  Delft,  to  see 
the  china  factories  and  other  things.  My  guide  there 
was  an  interesting  youth  with  an  alert  mind.  He  ex- 
pressed much  interest  regarding  Chicago,  and  said  he 
was  collecting  postal  cards,  and  wished  I  would  send  him 
some.  When  I  asked  him  what  kind  of  pictures  he  would 
like  he  said,  "O,  do  send  me  some  about  the  hogs." 

The  Harry  Selfridges  at  the  time  of  my  visit  to  Lon- 
don were  occupying  a  noble  old  country  house  about 
sixty  miles  north  of  town.  It  was  part  of  my  purpose 
in  England  to  accept  an  invitation  to  visit  them  at  this 
home.  Americans  who  have  not  enjoyed  the  hospitality 
of  an  English  country  home  cannot  imagine  the  quiet 
comfort  of  life  in  such  a  place.  It  was  an  old  and  stately 
home,  made  rich  by  some  aura  of  many  generations  of 
generous  living,  of  culture,  faith  and  fine  ideals.  There 
is  a  sense  of  fullness,  of  spiritual  as  of  bodily  things 
attained  in  the  atmosphere  of  such  a  home.  And  the 
setting  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  it.  Ancient  lawns 
that  to  the  tread  have  the  soft  spring  of  heavily  piled 
velvet;  trees  that  are  old  and  noble  in  their  age,  gardens 
that  carry  varying  blends  of  color  through  the  seasons, 


122  My  Chicago 

always  rich;  a  sky  of  soft  blue  with  clouds  of  soft  grey, 
blending  tenderly  over  a  landscape  of  green  from  the 
tenderest  tint  to  the  deepest  coloration;  stretching  fields 
of  grain  and  meadow-lands  with  here  and  there  a  cottage 
of  grey  stone,  roofed  in  old  red  tiles,  vines  covering  the 
walls  with  a  spray  of  delicate  blooms,  or  sometimes  with 
the  gentle  tone  of  ivy;  hedge-rows  everywhere,  that  in 
their  season  are  fragrant  of  their  pretty  flowers;  paths 
winding  here  and  there  to  quaint  stiles;  a  church  tower 
mildly  looking  toward  heaven  from  out  some  venerable 
church  yard,  with  its  solemn,  immemorial  oaks.  The 
scene  breathes  serenity  and  peace. 

I  had  always  loved  to  dwell  upon  a  line  in  the  speech 
of  Orlando  to  the  banished  Duke  in  the  forest:  "If  ever 
been  where  bells  have  knolled  to  church."  There  is  soft 
summer  and  tranquillity  in  the  picture  carried  by  those 
appealing  words,  but  I  never  understood  them  nor  got 
the  picture  truly  until  I  heard  the  bells  of  a  church  a  mile 
or  so  away  calling  the  people  on  a  Sunday  morning.  The 
bells  were  old,  their  tone  was  mellow,  the  distance  just 
enough  to  shade  their  volume  to  a  dying  fall.  We  have 
all  of  us  heard  church  bells  toll,  or  heard  them  clang 
together,  or  one  at  a  time,  we  have  heard  them  ring. 
Never  before  had  I  heard  them  "knoll."  To  me  they 
seemed  ancestral  voices,  calling  to  those  long  mouldered 
generations  who  lay  asleep  under  the  turf  below — a  holy 
sound. 

The  Selfridges  were  more  than  kind  in  their  recep- 
tion of  me.  They  made  their  home  my  home,  and  all 
my  wishes  were  anticipated,  in  that  unobtrusive  way  they 
have — those  good  people,  those  kind  friends.  Mrs. 
Self  ridge  died  on  May  14,  1918,  nine  days  after  Mrs. 
Potter  Palmer's  death. 

Out  of  all  the  motor  trips  I  had  one  in  particular 
which  was  made  memorable  by  my  visit  to  the  almost 
prehistoric  village  of  Broadway  in  Worcestershire. 


Mrs.  Harry  Gordon  Self  ridge. 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


My  Chicago  123 

Broadway  is  one  of  the  many  sequestered  places  in 
England  of  which  no  one  outside  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood knows  anything.  It  would  have  remained  an 
undiscovered  delight  to  me  if  it  were  not  for  its  being 
the  home  of  my  old  friend  Mary  Anderson  Navarro. 
It  is  a  far  cry  from  McVicker's  Theatre  in  Chicago  to 
Broadway  in  Worcestershire,  but  the  last  time  I  had 
seen  this  gifted  woman  was  in  McVicker's,  when  she 
played  both  Perdita  and  Hermione.  I  had  not  forgotten 
the  sweet  witchery  of  her  dance  on  the  green  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  play  when  she  was  Perdita,  the  purely 
Greek  impression  when  the  curtains  were  drawn  apart  to 
show  her  as  the  seeming  statue  of  Hermione,  nor  the 
depth  of  feeling  she  revealed  when  the  statue  became  the 
living  Queen,  once  more  came  back  from  her  unknown 
retirement.  It  was  altogether  the  best  performance  of  "A 
Winter's  Tale"  I  have  ever  seen,  and  in  my  opinion  the 
finest  piece  of  work  Miss  Anderson  ever  accomplished. 
She  was  Mary  Anderson  then.  "Our  Mary"  we  used  to 
call  her.  It  was  toward  the  end  of  her  career  here  at 
home.  Not  long  after  she  became  Mrs.  Navarro,  and 
retired  to  private  life.  The  Navarro  home  is  at  this 
same  old  world  Broadway.  She  has  emerged  from  time 
to  time  and  appeared  in  London  for  various  charities. 
But  after  each  such  occasion  she  has  gone  back  to  Broad- 
way, to  the  life  of  an  English  gentlewoman  and  the  care 
of  her  family. 


124  My  Chicago 


Chapter  Fifteen 

ROM  the  ashes  of  the  great  fire  arose  with 
feverish  haste  many  men  and  many  move- 
ments that  strove  without  coordination  to 
the  creation  of  a  new  city  with  higher  ideals. 

Nearly  all  of  them  were  futile  and  fleeting, 

but  one  true  note  was  sounded  by  one  man  theretofore 
comparatively  unknown,  a  young  man  eager,  active,  splen- 
did in  temperament  and  mentality — George  Benedict 
Carpenter.  How  much  we  owe  to  him  it  would  be  hard 
to  say.  For  a  time  that  is  long  to  look  back  upon  he  has 
been  resident  in  climes  more  happy  than  are  known  here 
below,  but  the  things  to  which  he  gave  impetus  are  alive, 
and  will  project  their  influence  through  the  times  to  come. 

The  fire  had  destroyed  all  the  halls  as  well  as  all  the 
theatres;  but  the  bulk  of  population  and  the  best  residen- 
tial neighborhoods  were  on  the  west  side,  which  the  fire 
had  not  touched.  In  association  with  another  young  man 
named  Sheldon  he  formed  the  firm  of  Carpenter  &  Shel- 
don, and  made  arrangements  with  the  trustees  of  the 
Union  Park  Congregational  church  in  Ashland  avenue 
overlooking  the  Park,  by  which  arrangements  they  had 
the  use  of  the  church  audience-room  for  lectures  and 
concerts.  Here  they  gave  two  or  three  successful  seasons. 
I  cannot  go  into  particulars  in  that  regard,  for  I  had  not 
then  come  to  Chicago.  But  when  I  did  come  in  1876, 
Carpenter  &  Sheldon  had  the  lead  in  all  the  better  enter- 
tainments of  that  kind,  and  had  become  well  known 
throughout  the  western  country  as  high  class  managers. 

Rebuilding  on  the  south  side  had  drawn  away  the 
value  of  the  Union  Park  location,  and  the  firm  was  some- 
times embarrassed  by  inability  to  control  desirable  places 


My  Chicago  125 

on  the  south  side  with  any  certainty  beyond  immediate 
dates.  This  gave  rise  to  Mr.  Carpenter's  desire  for  a 
hall  of  his  own.  Mr.  Sheldon  was  not  inclined  to  follow 
that  lead,  and  before  the  project  took  complete  shape  he 
withdrew  from  the  firm  and  went  to  live  in  London  as  the 
representative  of  a  financial  concern  that  had  extensive 
connections  in  England.  Having  a  free  hand,  George 
proceeded  to  formulate  the  project  which  resulted  in  the 
old  Central  Music  Hall  being  built  on  the  southeast 
corner  of  State  and  Randolph  streets.  Until  after  the 
Auditorium  was  built,  that  is  to  say  until  1889,  Central 
Music  Hall  was  the  scene  of  all  the  best  in  concert,  ora- 
torio and  lecture  work,  and  the  meetings  or  conventions 
of  musical  and  other  societies. 

Mr.  Carpenter  was  particularly  distinguished  by  his 
strict  adhesion  to  the  higher  planes  of  musical  perform- 
ance, but  in  the  pure  democracy  of  his  nature  he  wanted 
to  bring  great  music  to  the  many,  being  that  great  major- 
ity which  knew  nothing  of  the  better  forms  and  never 
patronized  the  more  select  places.  The  old  exposition 
building  on  the  lake  front  where  the  Art  Institute  now 
stands  (it  covered  about  three  times  as  much  as  that 
covered  by  the  Institute)  was  vacant  in  the  summer  time. 
He  took  a  tentative  hold  upon  it,  and  then  made  a  master 
stroke.  He  engaged  Theodore  Thomas  and  the  Thomas 
Orchestra,  one  of  the  largest  and  best  in  the  world,  to 
play  a  season  in  that  building,  giving  the  best  music  that 
ever  was  brought  to  the  town  for  an  entrance  fee  of  fifty 
cents,  sometimes  on  afternoons  for  twenty-five  cents.  The 
building  had  a  capacity  of  at  least  ten  thousand.  There 
never  was  a  bad  day  nor  an  empty  house.  The  success 
was  so  complete  in  every  way  that  it  was  followed  by 
several  other  equally  successful  seasons,  the  result  being 
that  arrangements  were  made  by  which  the  Orchestra  be- 
came a  Chicago  institution,  retaining  the  name  of  Thomas 
until  Mr.  Thomas  died,  after  which  time  it  was  known  as 


126  My  Chicago 

the  Chicago  Symphony  Orchestra — the  same  organization 
that  now  has  its  home  in  the  Orchestra  Hall  Building. 

Mr.  Carpenter's  splendid  and  beneficent  career  was 
at  its  height  when  death  took  him  suddenly  away  in  1882. 
Milward  Adams,  who  had  entered  Mr.  Carpenter's  em- 
ployment about  1870,  while  yet  a  boy,  and  who  was 
familiar  with  Mr.  Carpenter's  plans  and  methods  was 
retained  to  carry  on  his  work,  and  did  carrry  it  on  until 
he  was  engaged  to  manage  the  Auditorium  Theatre  in 
1889.  The  Thomas  Orchestra  was  transferred  to  the 
Auditorium  and  remained  there  until  Orchestra  Hall  was 
completed  some  years  later,  when  Mr.  Thomas  died  and 
was  succeeded  by  Frederick  Stock,  who  is  still  at  the  head 
of  the  Orchestra. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  overestimate  the  value  of  what 
George  Carpenter  did  for  Chicago  and  for  music  in  Chi- 
cago. There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  the  orchestra 
gave  the  first  great  offering  of  real  music  to  the  whole 
population;  nor  is  there  any  doubt  that  we  owe  to  Car- 
penter's spacious  conception  the  really  sound  musical 
taste  for  which  this  city  has  become  so  well  known  that 
musical  organizations  below  the  first  rank  know  better 
than  to  come  here.  His  genius  was  creative,  and  its  oper- 
ation was  happily  facilitated  by  his  executive  ability,  his 
prompt  and  thorough  habit  of  action.  In  his  private 
capacity  he  was  a  most  companionable  man,  bubbling  over 
with  good  humor,  widely  informed,  witty  and  warm 
hearted.  No  one  could  ask  to  have  a  better  or  more 
constant  friend.  He  was  the  exception  that  proved  the 
accepted  rule  that  a  man  of  positive  character  is  sure  to 
make  enemies  here  and  there.  He  had  none.  No,  not 
one.  A  statement  of  this  fact  would  be  his  noblest  epi- 
taph. I  am  but  one  of  many  who  benefited  by  his  friend- 
ship and  advice. 

Long  before  I  came  to  Chicago  there  flourished  a 
large  and  well  balanced  musical  organization  called  the 


My  Chicago  127 

Germania  Maennerchor.  I  do  not  know  whether  it 
antedated  the  introduction  of  Germany's  far  sighted  prop- 
aganda system,  but  it  was  thoroughly  German,  and 
beyond  any  doubt  had  a  large  influence  in  favor  of  things 
Germanic,  for  two  reasons:  it  sang  and  played  the  best 
music  that  had  ever  come  out  of  Germany;  and  its  mem- 
bership was  drawn  from  the  most  substantial  citizenry 
in  the  German  population  of  Chicago,  which  after  the 
Civil  war  was  almost  half  of  the  entire  population.  In 
1869  this  society  gave  a  superb  performance  of  "The 
Magic  Flute"  in  the  Crosby  Opera  House.  It  was  so 
good  a  performance  that  it  was  still  talked  about  when  I 
arrived  here,  eight  or  nine  years  later.  Sometime  in  the 
eighteen-seventies  they  gave  in  full,  and  I  think  in  Mc- 
Vicker's  Theatre,  the  opera,  "The  Bat."  Somehow  I 
missed  this  event,  but  I  remember  it  was  the  talk  of  the 
town.  The  Maennerchor  descended  from  father  to  son 
through  many  later  years.  For  all  I  know  to  the  con- 
trary it  may  in  some  form  still  be  going  on,  but  it  fell 
out  of  prominence  when  George  B.  Carpenter  built  the 
Central  Music  Hall  and  by  so  doing  terminated  the  use 
of  the  great  hall  in  the  McCormick  building  at  the  corner 
of  Clark  and  Kinzie  streets.  That  hall  had  housed  all 
the  big  choral  performances  from  the  time  it  was  com- 
pleted just  after  the  fire.  It  lapsed  into  disuse,  except 
for  occasional  meretricious  indoor  fairs,  or  third  or  fourth 
rate  dances,  until  it  bumped  the  bottom  of  respectable 
use  and  became  a  home  for  cheap  dramatic  stock  com- 
panies, and  then  still  cheaper  vaudeville. 

In  reaching  around  through  the  past  to  find  (perhaps 
unnecessarily)  the  beginning  of  things  as  they  are,  I  get 
nothing  antedating  the  Maennerchor.  But  after-days  are 
clearer;  and  from  the  fading  clouds  of  the  great  fire 
emerges  the  Beethoven  Society.  It  is  matter  for  regret 
that  more  distinct  records  of  the  Beethoven  Society  were 
not  kept,  for  it  died  away  many  years  after,  and  lives 


128  My  Chicago 

only  in  the  memory  of  those  few  elders  who  were  con- 
cerned with  it,  or  who  drank  delight  at  its  hands.  The 
Beethoven  Society  was  best  known  for  its  perfection  in 
chamber  music.  Naturally  operating  in  this  withdrawn 
and  lofty  area,  it  was  not  obtruded  upon  general  public 
notice,  nor  did  it  care  for  any  attention  or  patronage 
from  the  majority,  because  the  majority  had  no  ears  for 
those  high  and  pure  things  in  which  it  wrought.  It  may 
seem  somewhat  anomalous,  but  a  large  part  of  its 
patronage  and  most  of  its  courage  grew  out  of  the 
earnest  and  wise  counsel  and  sympathy  of  August  Blum, 
a  Jewish  gentleman  of  delicate  tastes  and  a  sound  knowl- 
edge of  all  that  is  best  in  music.  It  is  characteristic  of  such 
people  that  the  good  they  do  and  the  help  they  give  are 
done  and  given  for  the  sake  of  doing  and  giving,  without 
a  thought  of  self.  Mr.  Blum  was  a  banker.  Up  to  the 
time  the  Union  bank  of  Chicago  was  absorbed  in  the  First 
National,  he  had  been  in  charge  of  its  foreign  bond  de- 
partment. After  the  combination  he  became  a  second  vice 
president  of  the  First  National,  and  so  remained  until 
his  retirement  in  1916.  It  would  be  curious  to  learn  just 
how  much  of  the  development  of  the  best  interest  in  music 
were  due  to  him  and  to  his  altruism.  Most  of  those  who 
might  have  told  have  been  "guests  on  high"  these  many 
days,  and  for  himself,  the  rest  is  silence. 

The  Apollo  Club  began  to  loom  large  while  yet  the 
Beethoven  Society  was  safely  seated  in  its  lofty  niche, 
where  all  might  see.  The  rise  of  the  Apollo  club  was 
inversely  accompanied  by  the  fade-out  of  the  Beethoven. 
It  came  into  full  hearing  while  yet  it  was  young.  It  was 
and  remains  a  choral  organization.  Every  season  it 
sang  some  one  of  the  great  oratorios,  and  all  it  undertook 
it  did  well.  I  think  perhaps  its  best  work  was  its  sing- 
ing of  the  Messiah.  Its  most  vigorous  term  of  life  was 
passed  under  the  direction  of  William  L.  Tomlins.  When 
Mr.  Tomlins  stepped  aside  his  place  was  taken  by  Har- 


My  Chicago  129 

rison  Wild,  under  whose  administration  it  goes  tran- 
quilly on. 

The  Woman's  Amateur  Musical  Club  had  its  origin 
in  the  wareroom  of  a  piano  firm  where  four  ladies  met 
to  practice.  Gradually  they  attracted  a  band  of  listeners 
and  players,  which  grew  in  number  until  the  club  in- 
cluded a  large  number  of  the  most  musically  gifted  women 
in  Chicago,  whose  influence  in  cultivating  a  taste  for 
good  music  has  been  distinguished.  One  of  the  original 
four  was  Nettie  Roberts,  later  Mrs.  Ben  Jones.  Among 
the  organizers  of  the  club  were  Mrs.  Theodore  Thomas, 
Mrs.  John  M.  Clark,  Mrs.  Frank  Gordon,  Mrs.  George 
B.  Carpenter,  Mrs.  Charles  Haynes  and  Mrs.  William 
Warren. 

The  Woman's  Amateur  Musical  Club  has  been  amply 
justified  of  its  works.  It  would  seem  that  after  a  few 
years  of  personal  endeavor,  the  membership  came  into  a 
great  light,  in  which  they  discovered  a  purpose  and  a 
cause  leading  by  broader  highways  to  more  perfect  ends. 
It  decided  to  become  a  useful  instead  of  an  amateur  club, 
changed  its  name  to  the  Musicians'  Club,  and  began  to 
devote  its  attention  and  funds  to  discovering  and  advanc- 
ing talents  in  music  outside  its  own  membership,  and 
wherever  there  was  a  deserving  case.  In  this  they  have 
been  successful  in  many  instances,  disappointed  only  in  a 
few,  and  instrumental  in  furnishing  to  the  ranks  of  the 
profession  many  creditable,  even  excellent  musicians,  men 
and  women.  The  club  has  not  restricted  itself  to  any  one 
kind  of  individual  ability,  but  has  accepted  possible 
singers,  of  whatever  voice  or  register,  and  instrumen- 
talists employing  any  instrument.  These  people  it  has 
tried  out,  and  with  what  I  must  call  admirable  judgment 
has  taken  hold  of  the  best,  helped  them  in  their  training, 
finding  them  professional  employment,  sometimes  going 
so  far  as  to  pay  for  the  maintenance  and  education  of 


130  My  Chicago 

a  singer  or  a  player  at  the  best  schools  of  this  country 
and  western  Europe. 

It  is  really  an  admirable,  practical  and  effective  or- 
ganization, not  riotously  enthusiastic,  but  steadily  intent 
upon  the  best  good  to  be  accomplished,  in  behalf  of  music 
first,  and  next  in  behalf  of  individual  aspirants.  Its 
quarters  are  in  The  Fine  Arts  Building. 


Chapter  Sixteen. 


OHN  ALDEN  CARPENTER  has  made  a 
deep,  and  I  think  and  hope  a  lasting  impres- 
sion, upon  the  music  of  this  country.  There 
are  many  competent  people  who  place  his 

name    alongside    some    of    the    best    song 

writers  of  Europe,  and  somewhat  in  advance  of  other 
scholarly  composers  native  to  our  own  soil.  Not  long 
ago  Kurt  Schindler,  a  writer  of  recognized  authority,  had 
this  to  say  about  him: 

"The  works  of  John  Alden  Carpenter  are  a  most  un- 
usual offering;  in  trying  to  characterize  them  one  has  to 
give  to  them  some  of  the  noblest  attributes  that  can  be 
given  to  music.  Written  to  the  most  exquisitely  chosen 
poetry,  they  are  wrought  with  a  sound  musicianship,  in 
a  style  quite  personal  and  new.  The  fact  alone  that  such 
wonderful  poems  as  'The  Green  River,'  the  Blake  songs 
and  Stevenson's  verses  are  set  for  the  voice  with  perfect 
diction,  with  the  most  graceful  and  melodious  outline, 
will  give  valuable  testimony  to  the  fact  that  the  English 
language,  if  properly  set,  is  a  perfect  means  of  musical 
expression.  Furthermore  these  vocal  settings  are  framed 
in  piano  accompaniments  of  such  delicate  refinement,  such 
a  wealth  of  lovely  sound,  that  the  general  effect  of  the 
songs  becomes  one  of  exquisite  pictures,  that  you  want  to 


My  Chicago  131 

revel  in,  that  you  want  to  hear  over  and  over  again. 
John  Alden  Carpenter's  songs  have  heart  and  blood,  they 
have  the  spirit  and  grace,  coupled  with  a  refined  har- 
monic sense,  of  some  of  the  modern  French  lyricists, 
Chausson  and  Duparc;  and  yet  there  is  with  it  all  a  de- 
lightful English  sub-current,  as  if  inherited  from  ances- 
tral times,  that  gives  these  songs  their  particular 
fragrance." 

Mrs.  Carpenter,  herself  a  musician  and  poet  of  dis- 
tinctive merit,  has  collaborated  with  him  in  the  produc- 
tion of  several  works,  the  best  known  of  these  being 
"Improving  Songs  for  Anxious  Mothers."  These  books 
are  in  great  vogue — probably  the  only  things  of  their 
kind  produced  here  which  sell  freely  in  the  music  market. 
Aside  from  her  gift  in  music  and  in  rhyme  Mrs.  Car- 
penter has  honestly  earned  a  high  and  growing  reputation 
as  a  decorative  artist,  excelling  particularly  in  mural 
decoration.  People  who  visit  the  Auditorium  Theatre 
may  find  an  expression  of  her  powers  in  the  interior 
decoration  of  that  house.  Other  places  less  accessible 
or  less  widely  known  have  been  graced  by  her  good  taste 
and  skill.  She  is  almost  uncomfortably  in  demand  for 
work  of  that  kind,  though  I  hope  she  will  not  allow  it  to 
divert  her  from  the  direction  of  her  original  endeavors. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carpenter  collaborate  in  music.  They 
are  singularly  congenial.  They  work  and  play  together, 
everywhere.  Each  might  fitly  be  imagined  as  repeating 
continuously  to  the  other  the  declaration  of  Ruth  to 
Naomi. 

Chicago  has  given  to  the  world  several  composers, 
and  some  of  these  have  made  songs  that  have  been  sung 
all  round  the  world,  and  will  be  sung  by  generations  yet 
to  come.  The  name  of  George  Root  presents  itself  the 
moment  this  subject  comes  up.  His  best  work  was  done 
while  the  civil  war  was  on;  but  its  message,  its  pure  ap- 
peal, went  at  once  and  always  will  go  to  those  deep  emo- 


132  My  Chicago 

tions  that  are  implicit  in  human  nature — and  human  nature 
is  the  same  in  all  ages.  A  long  course  of  years  followed 
before  another  Chicago  composer  produced  a  song  that 
similarly  addressed  itself  to  all  the  people.  How  Carrie 
Jacobs  Bond  came  to  write  "The  Perfect  Day"  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  share  the  common  knowledge  that  it  is  one 
of  those  great  songs  whose  words  and  music  interblend 
to  the  expression  of  a  thought  that  is  fraught  with  con- 
solation and  hope  to  all  who  hear  it.  It  is  quite  incidental 
that  the  sale  of  this  song  has  lifted  Mrs.  Bond  from 
straitened  circumstances  to  affluence.  The  glorious 
climate  of  California  and  that  particular  part  of  it  which 
scintillates  around  and  about  San  Diego,  agrees  with  Mrs. 
Bond's  disposition,  wherefore  she  has  gone  there  to  enjoy 
the  end  of  many  perfect  days  as  they  have  out  yonder 
each  year. 

How  many  operas  have  been  written  by  Chicago 
people?  I  might  almost  as  well  ask  how  many  are  the 
unsung  songs.  Nebulous  memories  of  operatic  ambi- 
tions that  died  dumb  float  around  in  the  gathering  mists 
of  the  backward  years.  I  hear  a  faint  note  of  Frederick 
Grant  Gleason,  a  fainter  of  Silas  G.  Pratt.  There  are 
others  still  fainter,  but  the  names  are  forgotten,  possibly 
to  be  evoked  for  renewal  in  some  future  domain  of  life 
beyond  the  stars,  where  good  intentions  may  be  counted 
for  as  much  as  mere  performance.  But  there  is  one 
glorious  burst  of  music  that  surges  down  in  waves  of 
harmony  along  the  many  days,  and  will  go  on  because  it 
is  true. 

Reginald  de  Koven  belongs  to  a  family  distinguished 
for  its  culture  and  for  its  excellence  in  finance.  A  star 
sang,  and  under  that  he  was  born.  His  mind  was  filled 
with  melody,  but  his  hands  were  filled  with  money.  The 
disharmony  between  melody  and  money  dragged  him 
forth  from  the  bank  in  which  his  father  was  a  power, 
and  landed  him  where  he  belonged.  The  other  birds  in 


My  Chicago  133 

the  de  Koven  nest  were  disconcerted  by  this  new  one.  It 
took  them  a  long  time  to  realize  that  operas  may  happen 
in  the  best  regulated  families.  I  heard  him  once  declare 
to  Eugene  Field  that  he  had  never  committed  any  crime 
that  would  justify  his  being  shut  up  behind  a  brass  grating 
and  compelled  to  talk  through  the  bars  with  uninteresting 
people,  about  currency.  It  was  shortly  after  that  declara- 
tion that  he  and  Harry  B.  Smith  put  their  heads  together 
and  elaborated  "Robin  Hood."  It  is  curious  that  this 
same  topic  or  story  was  used  by  the  first  composer  of  an 
opera  in  English,  about  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century. 
It  is  a  big  jump  from  the  rural  England  of  King  John 
to  the  last  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century,  but  de  Koven 
and  Smith  made  it  and  landed  in  safety,  high  up.  There 
is  little  more  to  be  said  about  this,  unless,  maybe,  that 
the  song  number  most  familiar,  the  one  that  is  instantly 
suggested  by  the  mention  of  "Robin  Hood,"  is  "Oh 
Promise  Me."  It  was  not  in  the  original  score,  but  in 
the  place  where  it  now  occurs  there  was  a  soft  spot,  a 
slowing  down,  that  puzzled  managers  and  composers 
alike.  Tom  Karl,  the  first  tenor  in  the  company,  told 
de  Koven  he  thought  he  could  fill  that  out  if  de  Koven 
would  write  him  a  song  to  be  interpolated.  The  song 
was  written,  and  fell  flat.  After  two  or  three  perform- 
ances Karl  wanted  to  cut  it  out.  Here  came  in  our  own 
Jessie  Bartlett  Davis,  the  contralto  of  the  company  (and 
what  a  glorious  contralto!)  who  liked  the  song  and 
thought  she  could  do  something  with  it.  With  Karl's 
consent  de  Koven  transposed  it  for  Mrs.  Davis.  It  had 
one  rehearsal  with  orchestra,  and  she  sang  it  that  night. 
It  set  the  audience  wild.  They  made  her  sing  it  over 
and  over  and  over  again.  From  that  time  on  it  was  the 
feature  always  waited  for,  always  called  for.  Wherever 
Mrs.  Davis  went  she  was  entreated  to  sing  it.  She  sang 
it  so  often  that  the  words  became  to  her  most  hateful 
things;  but  of  the  song  itself  she  never  wearied.  Do  you 


134  My  Chicago 

blame  her  about  the  words?    Suppose  you  had  to  say  or 
sing  all  the  time: 

"Oh  promise  me  that  some  day  you  and  I 
Will  take  our  love  together  to  some  sky!" 

What  did  Harry  Smith  have  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote 
that?  Why  should  anybody  promise  any  such  thing? 
And  to  what  sky  ?  and  again  why  ?  Was  he  cryptic  ?  Was 
he  trying  to  start  something?  Or  did  he  think  he  was 
Robert  Browning? 

A  strange  reversal  of  function  is  to  be  observed  by 
naturalists  and  other  disinterested  observers  continuously 
and  unfailingly  manifests  itself  in  the  concerns  of  com- 
posers and  performers  of  music,  an  action  and  reaction 
as  it  were,  in  which  the  reaction  becomes  permanent  and 
the  action  is  forgotten.  A  composer  may  compose  his 
head  off  without  a  chance  of  getting  anywhere  unless  a 
performer  brings  out  his  work.  This  applies  particularly 
to  music  that  is  intended  to  be  sung. 

I  am  reminded  of  it  (without  prejudice  in  any  direc- 
tion) by  a  state  of  facts  that  gradually  shaped  itself 
before  my  looking  eyes.  Everybody  knows  George 
Hamlin.  That  is,  everybody  hereabout  who  is  interested 
in  music.  Critics  and  public  alike  conceded  him  a  place 
in  the  first  row  of  the  concert  stage,  while  yet  his  career 
was  young.  He  holds  that  place  without  dispute,  and 
with  growing  approval.  He  is  at  once  a  man  solidly  in- 
formed, a  voice  with  a  homely,  human  warmth  of  heart. 
Because  this  is  true  he  is  a  great  singer,  a  satisfying  artist. 
By  many  competent  critics  he  is  accounted  the  best  tenor 
on  the  concert  stage  in  this  country.  I  think  it  may  be 
said  freely  that  he  is  the  only  American  tenor  voice  pos- 
sessing the  power  to  stir  emotion.  It  has  exquisite  power 
in  the  lower  register,  and  it  has  remarkable  range. 

I  was  led  to  the  foregoing  action  and  reaction  observa- 


My  Chicago  135 

tion  by  a  consideration  of  this  and  the  knowledge  that 
he  had  been  instrumental  in  bringing  into  public  notice 
Richard  Strauss,  Hugo  Wolf,  Max  Reger,  Tipton  Camp- 
bell, H.  Burleigh  and  several  other  composers  theretofore 
unheard,  even  unheard  of.  How  familiar  those  names 
are  now;  how  easily  they  took  their  places  on  the  shelves 
of  all  music  dealers  after  they  had  been  heard  through 
Hamlin's  voice !  How  sure  they  are  of  the  place  he 
won  for  them  with  the  people,  and  how  long  they  will 
stay  and  be  sung  after  that  witching  voice  has  died  away, 
gone  to  the  place  where  music  is,  and  beauty  has  no 
shade ! 

While  most  of  his  work  was  done  elsewhere,  a  good 
deal  of  it  in  Europe,  John  McWade  will  not  be  forgotten 
in  his  native  Chicago.  By  many  he  is  given  a  place  next 
to  George  Hamlin,  but  he  diffused  his  efforts  in  too  many 
directions  to  have  built  up,  as  he  might  have  done,  in  any 
one.  John  McWade  gave  up  singing  and  took  up  in- 
surance a  few  years  before  his  death  in  1905. 

Who  among  the  elder  people  of  Chicago  can  forget 
the  big,  sonorous,  rich  bass  of  Frank  Lombard.  More 
than  any  other  singer  we  ever  had  he  was  a  part  of  the 
public  life  of  the  town.  Whenever  any  movement  was 
on,  especially  if  it  were  a  Republican  or  a  civic  better- 
ment movement,  Frank  was  called  in  to  sing.  He  could 
engage  and  hold  the  feelings  of  an  audience  and  sway 
them  like  so  much  standing  wheat  in  a  great  wind.  The 
darkey  songs,  "Old  Black  Joe"  and  "Old  Shady,"  are 
sung  today,  because  Frank  sane  them  first  and  made 
their  depth  of  feeling  known.  "Old  Black  Joe"  is  ele- 
mentally simple  and  in  itself  affecting.  It  may  be  taken 
as  a  specimen  of  American  negro  music  at  its  best — 
though  I  do  not  know  who  wrote  it.  Frank's  brother 
Jules  survived  him  many  years,  and  may  be  said  to  have 
taken  his  place — a  peculiar  one,  which  has  disappeared 


136  My  Chicago 

since  neither  Frank  nor  Jules  are  here  to  hold  it;  and 
there  is  no  other. 

During  the  last  forty  years  four  names  of  distinction 
among  the  foremost  pianists  have  identified  themselves 
with  Chicago.  One,  Mrs.  Ellen  (Nellie)  Crosby,  has 
gone  away.  One  of  the  others  has  retired  from  the  public 
view — Julia  Rive  King.  Another,  William  H.  Sherwood, 
died  not  long  ago.  The  fourth,  Mrs.  Fanny  Bloom- 
field  Zeisler,  maintains  her  standing  and  raises  it  higher 
from  year  to  year.  She  has  become  a  world  celebrity. 

Mrs.  King  made  her  first  appearance  here  in  1874, 
while  she  still  was  Julia  Rive.  It  was  in  Chicago  she 
received  her  first  complete  recognition.  After  that  she 
toured  the  country  as  a  concert  pianist,  sometimes  as  a 
solo  artist  with  one  or  another  great  orchestra,  but  during 
much  of  her  time  she  lived  here.  Followed  a  few  years 
in  New  York,  and  then  a  return  to  Chicago  as  teacher 
in  one  of  the  schools  of  music,  apparently  a  permanent 
position.  Mrs.  King  had  a  most  remarkable  power  in 
memorizing  complex  music  of  the  higher  order.  She  had 
wrists  of  steel,  and  a  superb  command  of  technical  expres- 
sion. To  those  she  owed  her  prominence. 

Mrs.  Crosby  has  a  singularly  clear  intuition  for  musi- 
cal meanings,  an  almost  uncanny  appreciation  of  emo- 
tional values.  Her  technical  training  was  sufficient  to 
enable  a  transmission  of  those  values  to  her  hearers.  In 
these  things  she  may  be  put  in  a  class  by  herself. 

Mr.  Sherwood  came  from  Boston.  Before  he  joined 
the  Chicago  Conservatory  he  had  acquired  a  considerable 
reputation  in  concert  work.  He  was  an  excellent  tech- 
nician and  a  competent  teacher.  I  speak  of  him  in  the 
past  tense,  because  he  is  no  longer  living. 

But  the  greatest  pianist  we  can  call  our  own  is  Mrs. 
Fanny  Bloomfield  Zeisler.  In  earlier  days  she  was  a 
pupil  of  Carl  Wolfsohn,  who  was  not  only  himself  a 
musician,  but  quick  to  recognize  latent  genius  in  others. 


My  Chicago  137 

When  she  had  learned  all  he  could  teach  her  she  had 
gone  far  enough  to  make  her  future  clear.  Her  educa- 
tion was  completed  in  Europe.  Upon  her  return  and 
from  her  first  public  appearance  she  was  acclaimed  an 
artist  of  the  first  class.  How  she  learned  or  what  she 
learned  from  any  of  the  masters  under  whom  she  studied 
matters  little,  for  her  own  innate  power  would  have 
found  a  way  to  its  own  expression,  by  itself.  There  are 
few  people  of  whom  this  can  be  said  with  equal  truth. 
The  piano  after  all  is  a  machine,  and  only  a  soul  touched 
by  the  true  fire  can  transcend  its  mechanical  limitations, 
and  make  it  sing  the  whole  range  of  pure  feeling.  Before 
Mrs.  Zeisler's  advent  Mme.  Essipoff  was  the  one  pianist 
who  could  "play  like  a  lady,  and  make  the  piano  sing 
like  an  angel,"  as  was  said  of  her  by  a  critic  I  have  here- 
tofore mentioned.  Mrs.  Zeisler  overtopped  Mme.  Es- 
sipoff in  that  she  could  bring  out  not  only  delicacy  and 
beauty,  but  a  majesty  and  panoply  of  color  that  neither 
Mme.  Essipoff  nor  any  other  player  I  have  ever  heard 
could  even  remotely  approach.  It  is  not  only  my  own 
opinion  that  speaks  now.  Two  continents  have  given  full 
recognition  to  her  transcendent  ability.  Mrs.  Zeisler's 
home  is  here,  and  that  fact  gives  its  own  shade  of  mean- 
ing to  the  name  of  Chicago. 

In  addition  to  these  four,  I  should  speak  of  Allen 
Spencer,  one  of  a  younger  group,  who  without  abandoning 
the  classic  composers  has  developed  surprising  facility 
and  felicity  in  interpreting  the  works  of  DeBussey  and 
other  modern  composers,  both  European  and  American. 
With  these  he  has  been  recognized  broadly  in  concert 
work. 


138  My  Chicago 


Chapter  Seventeen 


versity  Clu 


N  OCTOBER  30,  1899,  my  friend  Irving  K. 
Pond,  doubtless  animated  by  a  desire  to  con- 
tribute to  my  knowledge  of  Delsarte,  invited 
me  to  accompany  him  to  the  Literary  Club, 
which  then  held  its  meetings  in  the  old  Uni- 
house  in  Dearborn  street,  where  he  read  a 


paper  on  "The  Poetry  of  Motion."  Whenever  there 
was  a  fourth  Monday  in  the  month  it  was  called  ladies' 
night,  and  this  was  one  of  these  occasions.  Among  others 
honored  by  the  privilege  of  speaking  before  the  ladies 
were  Fred  Root  and  Hobart  C.  Chatfield-Taylor. 

The  Literary  club  has  the  distinction  of  being  the 
oldest  of  the  men's  literary  clubs  in  Chicago,  having  been 
established  in  June,  1874,  one  year  after  the  Woman's 
Fortnightly,  which  was  founded  in  June,  1873,  making 
it  the  pioneer  among  woman's  clubs.  Robert  Collyer 
was  the  first  president  of  the  Literary  Club,  and  its  list 
of  members  include  many  of  the  leading  personalities  of 
our  best  citizenry.  Its  unflagging  interest  and  prosperity 
has  been  largely  due  to  the  indefatigable  efforts  of  Mr. 
Frederick  Gookin,  who  has  been  its  secretary  and  treas- 
urer since  1880.  The  club  occupies  a  suite  of  rooms  on 
the  ninth  floor  of  the  Fine  Arts  Building,  in  connection 
with  the  Caxton  Club,  the  members  of  which  are  lovers 
of  the  technicalities  of  book  making — and  who  frequently 
publish  standard  works  in  beautiful  bindings. 

An  interesting  little  story  is  connected  with  Fred 
Root's  evening  with  the  Literary  Club.  At  that 
time  Mrs.  Coonley-Ward  was  holding  a  series  of  what 
might  be  called  literary  and  musical  symposiums  at  her 
home  on  the  Lake  Shore  Drive.  Mr.  Root  thought  he 


My  Chicago  139 

would  try  out  the  program  he  had  prepared  for  the 
Literary  Club  at  one  of  these  meetings,  which  on  this 
occasion  had  been  arranged  in  honor  of  Abbie  Sage 
Richardson  of  Boston.  Mr.  Root  had  composed  music 
which  had  for  its  theme  a  mother  whose  necessity  com- 
pelled her  to  work  all  day,  and  the  joy  she  experienced 
on  returning  home  at  night  to  be  reunited  to  her  baby 
child.  He  asked  the  audience  to  guess  the  subject  of  the 
composition  while  hearing  it  played.  The  company  sug- 
gested many  possible  themes,  without  success,  when  Sud- 
denly Irving  Pond  exclaimed  with  his  habitual  acumen, 

"Why,  it's  something  about  a  mother,  a  mother  and 
her  child."  So  the  riddle  was  solved. 

Fred  Root,  be  it  remembered,  was  the  son  of  George 
Root  of  early  musical  fame,  and  the  brother  of  Mrs. 
Clara  Louise  Burnham,  to  whom  she  is  indebted  for  her 
start  as  a  story  writer. 

The  story  goes  that  Mr.  Root  had  urged  his  sister  to 
become  an  author,  but  she  had  persistently  refused  to 
experiment,  declaring  she  could  not  write.  Finally  he  is 
said  to  have  shut  her  up  in  a  room,  declaring  he  would 
not  unlock  the  door  till  she  had  written  a  story,  which 
she  did,  taking  the  boyhood  of  Fred  and  his  brother 
Charles  for  a  subject.  I  believe  this  story  was  never 
published,  but  it  led  to  her  writing  many  other  widely 
read  and  successful  stories,  chief  of  which  is  "Jewel." 

To  return  to  the  evening  at  the  Literary  Club:  Mr. 
Pond  succeeded  so  well  in  his  address  before  the  ladies 
and  in  many  other  contributions  to  artistic  Chicago  that 
he  was  made  president  of  the  American  Institute  of 
Architects  at  Washington,  and  while  filling  that  office 
represented  not  only  the  Institute,  but  our  government, 
in  the  international  congress  of  Architects,  and  delivered 
addresses  in  Rome  and  Venice,  and  before  the  congress 
in  London  at  the  Royal  Institute  of  British  Architects. 


140  My  Chicago 

Mr.  Pond  and  Daniel  H.  Burnham  are  two  of  four  of 
our  Americans  who  have  been  so  honored. 

While  there  have  been  many  clubs  in  Chicago  that  have 
made  a  feature  of  receiving  and  entertaining  distinguished 
visitors  the  Twentieth  Century  Club  which  was  founded 
in  1889  at  the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Fernando  Jones  and 
her  daughter  Mrs.  George  Roswell  Grant,  was  distinc- 
tive among  them.  The  meetings  were  designed  not  only 
to  afford  distinguished  writers  and  other  artists  an  op- 
portunity to  meet  the  men  and  women  who  largely  con- 
stituted Chicago's  culture,  to  make  the  stranger  within 
our  gates  acquainted  with  the  more  gracious  aspects  of 
our  community  life,  but  to  address  them  as  well.  The 
first  meeting  was  held  at  the  residence  of  Mr.  George 
M.  Pullman,  December  18,  1889.  The  speaker  on  that 
occasion  was  Charles  Dudley  Warner  who  spoke  on  "Our 
Criminal  Classes."  The  club  closed  its  twenty-fifth  year 
on  January  26,  1916,  John  Masefield  being  the  speaker, 
his  subject  Shakespeare. 

William  Morton  Payne  was  the  Secretary  and  Treas- 
urer of  the  club  during  the  entire  term  of  its  existence. 
It  fulfilled  the  mission  for  which  it  was  organized.  The 
necessity  for  its  continuance  diminished  as  the  town  out- 
grew the  state  of  things  that  had  originally  made  its 
formation  desirable  and  for  almost  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury had  enjoyed.  It  is  more  than  a  pleasant  memory; 
and  this  memory  is  kept  alive  by  the  names  of  a  few  of 
those  who  had  sometimes  inspired,  often  directed  those 
activities. 

First  among  the  owners  of  these  names  comes  Mrs. 
Mary  H.  Wilmarth.  It  is  a  happy  thought,  a  strange 
thing,  that  Mrs.  Wilmarth  throughout  her  long  life  (she 
was  born  in  1837)  has  been  a  good,  often  a  strong  in- 
fluence in  all  that  has  made  for  higher  aims  and  finer 
living  in  this  place,  for  a  strong  influence  is  not  always  a 
good  one.  She  was  of  New  England  origin  and  came 


Mrs.  Mary  H.  Wilmart}\. 


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My  Chicago  141 

here  in  her  earlier  womanhood,  the  wife  of  H.  M. 
Wilmarth.  Long  before  the  Congress  Hotel  was  built 
the  Wilmarths  lived  in  a  house  covering  part  of  the 
ground  in  Michigan  avenue  where  the  hotel  now  stands. 
During  much  of  that  time  the  neighborhood  was  one 
of  the  best  though  whenever  the  stormy  winds  did 
blow  the  lake,  had  a  playful  way  of  slapping  over  the 
opposite  sidewalk  and  spraying  the  grass  in  front  of 
their  door.  From  her  arrival  in  Chicago  and  quite  with- 
out self  assertion,  Mrs.  Wilmarth's  native  traits  of  char- 
acter brought  her  and  her  opinions  a  growing  deference. 
Those  opinions  were  of  the  kind  that  prevailed  in  the 
New  England  of  her  youth,  and  had  firm  roots  in  a  mind 
that  offered  a  blend  of  positivity  and  kindliness.  Through 
all  her  days  she  has  held  fast  to  those  principles  for  their 
own  sake,  and  without  regard  to  their  bearing  upon  any 
of  the  formulated  religions.  All  of  us  who  have  known 
Mrs.  Wilmarth  for  any  length  of  time  have  been  aware 
of  her  peculiar  clarity  of  thought,  the  charm  of  her  wit, 
which  now  as  then  was  trenchant;  her  generosity,  her 
capability  for  sincere  friendship.  If  I  were  to  try  to 
describe  her  in  the  fewest  words  and  with  the  fullest 
truth,  I  would  say  that  in  her  soul  and  in  all  her  acts 
she  distilled  the  essence  of  what  we  call  the  law  of 
service.  I  cannot  help  feeling  a  regret  that  the  radius 
of  these  acts  of  hers  was  in  the  comity  of  things  so 
localized. 

Next  in  perspective  is  Franklin  H.  Head,  who  was  a 
very  big  man  in  the  club  but  a  bigger  man  outside  it. 
Before  Mr.  Head,  in  the  middle  formative  stage  of 
Chicago  as  we  know  it,  there  had  been  many  brilliant 
lawyers,  a  few  great  ones,  and  some  glittering  wits. 
He  came  in  after  Emory  Storrs,  Wirt  Dexter,  Leonard 
Swett,  and  the  great  group  to  which  they  belonged  had 
pretty  much  passed  away.  He  typifies  now  the  broader 
and  more  adaptable  school  of  the  present  day.  His 


142 


My  Chicago 


professional  ability  is  well  enough  known  and  freely 
conceded.  But  his  other  sides,  those  in  which  he  shone 
at  his  best,  were  reserved  for  private  life.  His  famili- 
arity with  and  judgment  of  English  Literature  was  wide 
and  sound.  He  was  himself  a  writer  good  enough  to 
justify  a  belief  that  he  might  have  risen  to  distinction 
in  that  line,  had  he  chosen  to  follow  it.  He  exercised 
the  largest  hospitality  without  ostentation.  At  his  home, 
a  beautiful  colonial  house  at  No.  2  Banks  street  he 
entertained  distinguished  writers,  musicians  and  states- 
men in  a  congenial  atmosphere.  Men  and  women,  what- 
ever their  achievements  in  those  fields  were  always  in 
the  front  line  of  his  friendships.  Mr.  Head  died  in 
June,  1914. 


Chapter  Eighteen 

ARLY  in  March,  1918,  I  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Chatfield-Taylor  at  her  home  in  Santa  Bar- 
bara, telling  her  that  I  was  engaged  in  writ- 
ing a  book  which  I  hoped  to  complete  and 
that  I  should  like  to  have  her  picture  to  adorn 
its  pages — adding  that  it  made  no  difference  at  what 
period  of  her  life  the  picture  was  taken.  With  the  re- 
sponsiveness and  promptness  characteristic  of  her,  I  re- 
ceived the  following  note  which  if  not  the  last  was  among 
the  very  last  notes  she  ever  wrote: 


Franklin  H.  Head. 


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OF  ILLINOIS 


Mrs.   Chatfield-Taylor. 


My  Chicago  143 


AFIELD 


Mrs.  Taylor  died  on  April  5th,  after  a  brief  illness 
of  one  week.  The  following  tribute  to  her  memory  by 
her  friend  Caroline  Kirkland  appeared  in  The  Chicago 
Tribune. 

"To  conquer  death,  to  chase  its  shadows  away  by  the 
radiance  of  your  personality,  is  a  notable  achievement. 
No  one  who  ever  knew  Mrs.  Hobart  Chatfield-Taylor 
(beautiful  Rose  Farwell  Taylor)  will  ever  think  of  her 
as  anything  but  alive,  young,  gay,  serene,  unfailingly 
gentle  and  kindly  in  her  attitude  toward  every  one. 

"Imperishable  youth  and  beauty  is  an  enviable  portion. 
It  takes  a  stoic  to  face  old  age,  a  philosopher  to  endure 
it,  and  a  saint  to  pass  successfully  through  it  to  the  only 
gate  leading  out  of  it.  Mrs.  Chatfield-Taylor  had  all 
these  qualifications,  but  she  was  fortunate  in  not  having 
to  draw  upon  them,  and  to  remain  for  her  contemporaries 
a  vision  of  all  that  is  desirable  in  and  for  a  woman." 


144  My  Chicago 

Mrs.  Potter  Palmer  was  a  daughter  of  H.  H.  Honore 
and  H.  H.  Honore  was  a  man  of  gentle  blood,  descended 
from  an  old  French  family  of  high  degree.  Immediately 
after  the  civil  war  Mr.  Honore  began  to  climb  into  fortune 
and  prominence  through  his  share  in  rebuilding  the  city. 
This  fortune  proved  a  mutable  quantity,  but  he  formed 
associations  with  several  men  of  less  imagination  and 
greater  tenacity,  and  through  these  associations  he  and 
his  children  first  assumed,  then  by  sheer  merit  retained 
leadership  in  such  social  life  as  the  town  could  show. 
Bertha  Honore  married  Potter  Palmer.  Potter  Palmer 
possessed  many  splendid  traits,  and  exceptional  force  of 
character.  The  great  fire  had  totally  ruined  him.  Its 
ashes  were  not  cold  before  he  had  begun  again  to  build 
up  riches  for  himself.  He  was  one  of  the  few  Chicago 
men  who  never  bothered  with  politics,  nor  fussed  with 
public  affairs,  yet  whose  names  are  in  the  mouth  or  mem- 
ories of  all  their  countrymen.  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer  had 
a  genius  for  great  enterprises  that  matched  her  husband's; 
and  she  had  graces  of  manner  and  a  charm  of  mind  that 
went  a  long  way,  by  complementing  them,  to  make  their 
joint  powers  complete  and  effectual.  Mrs.  Palmer  had 
foresight,  clear  vision  and  with  her  husband  her  counsel 
was  potent.  Far  in  advance  of  its  present  development 
she  saw  the  future  of  the  great  north  division  of  the  city, 
and  in  this  glimpse  of  futurity  lay  the  tremendous  and 
permanent  increase  of  the  Palmer  fortune. 

She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  calm  air  and 
gracious  bearing  of  a  Marquise  of  old  France.  I  never 
can  forget  the  fascination  that  looked  out  from  the 
splendid  full  length  portrait  of  her  painted  by  Healy  in 
the  eighteen  seventies.  Supremacy  in  every  thing  she 
touched  seemed  to  come  to  her  unasked.  She  was  more 
than  a  local  figure,  she  was  known  everywhere  and  every- 
where admired.  In  Europe  she  came  nearer  to  being 
accepted  on  equal  terms  in  patrician  circles,  than  any 


Mrs.  Potter  Palmer. 


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My  Chicago  145 

other  Chicago  woman.  Had  she  chosen  to  remain 
abroad,  she  might  have  been  a  figure  in  the  old 
capitals.  Her  sister  Ida  married  General  Grant's 
son  Frederick,  and  his  sister  Nellie  married  Captain 
Algernon  Sartoris,  a  member  of  one  of  the  old  county 
families  of  England.  Ida  Grant's  daughter  Julia  mar 
ried  Prince  Cantacuzene.  These  marriages  were  not 
made  by  contrivance  nor  in  pursuit  of  any  ambition  to 
climb.  They  gave  Mrs.  Palmer,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
entrance  to  the  best  houses  in  the  old  country.  But  after 
Potter  Palmer's  death  the  care  of  a  great  estate,  and  her 
sincere  love  for  her  own  country  and  her  own  city, 
brought  her  home  for  a  part  of  every  year;  and  finally, 
to  remain.  She  was  completing  a  fine  estate  in  Florida 
when  she  was  called  away  on  May  5,  1918,  just  a  month 
to  a  day  after  Mrs.  Chatfield-Taylor  died. 

Mrs.  Palmer's  distinction  was,  that  of  all  the  women 
of  Chicago  who  were  widely  known  elsewhere,  she  was 
the  only  one  who  in  a  commanding  way  concerned  herself 
with  social  life.  When  she  died,  something  large,  some- 
thing eminent  and  worthy  went  out,  and  left  vacant  a 
place  that  has  not  yet  been  filled  and  is  not  likely  to  be 
for  a  long  time.  Another  grand  dame  may  come,  but 
never  another  whose  life  had  been  so  closely  knit  into 
the  life  of  her  city,  during  a  period  so  significant. 

In  the  course  of  an  appreciative  story  of  Mrs.  Palmer's 
life  The  Evening  Post  of  New  York  says:  "Her  reign 
synchronized  with  the  career  of  another  Chicago  woman, 
unlike  her  in  everything  but  prominence.  What  the 
'first  lady'  was  to  an  undefined  realm  that  included  social 
functions  on  the  one  hand  and  the  presidency  of  the  board 
of  lady  managers  of  the  Columbian  exposition  on  the 
other,  Frances  E.  Willard  was  to  a  very  definite  move- 
ment of  which  we  are  just  now  seeing  the  final  strokes. 
It  is  doubtful  if  any  other  of  our  cities  can  boast  in  their 
history  of  three  women  contemporaries,  so  diverse,  so 


146  My  Chicago 

widely  known,  so  influential,  as  Mrs.  Palmer,  Miss  Wil- 
lard  and  Jane  Addams. 

"The  customary  sneer  at  the  cultural  pretensions,  or 
indifference,  of  the  city  by  the  lake  fades  on  the  lips  at 
the  picture  of  this  unique  group.  Each  fitted  into  the 
niche  that  she  made  for  herself.  Each  commanded  the 
respect,  not  only  of  her  numerous  entourage,  using  the 
word  in  a  rather  wide  sense,  but  also  of  the  general 
public.  Each  achieved  a  triumph  sometimes  thought  to 
be  difficult,  the  triumph  of  being  a  lady  and  a  woman  at 
the  same  time.  In  their  various  ways  they  have  left  their 
impress  upon  their  age,  an  impress  not  exceeded  by  that 
of  any  politician  or  captain  of  industry  of  their  era  and 
locale." 

There  needs  no  herald  to  proclaim  the  sturdy  labors 
of  Miss  Addams,  nor  the  high  intent  with  which  they 
were  and  are  being  performed.  The  name  of  Miss 
Addams  and  the  fame  of  her  exploits  are  borne  abroad 
upon  the  winds  of  all  the  world.  Later  time  will  do  a 
fuller  justice,  concede  a  higher  merit  to  her  career,  than 
could  be  expected  from  her  contemporaries.  She  stands 
within  the  meaning  of  the  axiom  that  perspective  is 
necessary  to  define  the  relativity  of  greatness. 

In  the  beginning  of  these  records  I  referred  briefly  to 
the  talents  of  my  sisters  Ida  and  Marian,  both  of  whom 
have  contributed  much  to  artistic  endeavor  and  to  the 
higher  things  of  life.  Both  have  benefited  not  only  by 
instruction  from  American  teachers  of  note  in  various 
branches  of  art  but  those  of  London,  Paris,  Berlin  and 
Munich. 

Marian  (Mrs.  Walter  Everett  Carr)  among  other 
things  did  creditable  portrait  work  especially  under  the 
instruction  of  William  T.  Dannat  in  Paris.  Since  her 
marriage  she  has  not  worked  professionally  although  had 
she  chosen  to  do  so  she  might  have  taken  a  place  among 
the  best  of  our  artists. 


Marian  Morgan  Carr. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


Ida  Morgan  Palmer. 


My  Chicago  147 

Ida  Morgan  Palmer  continued  her  artistic  endeavors 
with  intervals  of  interruption  up  to  the  time  of  her 
death  in  1916.  The  last  years  of  her  life  were  chiefly 
devoted  to  artistic  photographic  portraiture  in  which  art 
she  excelled.  When  William  B.  Dyer  left  Chicago  he 
chose  Mrs.  Palmer  to  continue  the  work  in  his  Studios 
in  the  Fine  Arts  Building,  which  she  did  until  failing 
health  caused  her  retirement.  However  much  she  gave 
to  the  beauty  of  life  in  material  things  she  contributed 
more  to  the  spiritual  side  and  found  her  highest  joy 
in  intercourse  with  her  family  and  her  friends.  She  was 
actuated  in  everything  she  did  by  a  desire  to  contribute 
to  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  others  and  one  rarely 
came  in  contact  with  her  without  being  benefited  in  some 
way  as  hundreds  of  letters  testified  at  the  time  of  her 
going  away.  She  left  her  sisters  and  her  numerous 
friends  a  rich  legacy  of  devoted  ministration  and  love. 


Chapter  Nineteen 

)OHN  T.  McCUTCHEON  has  excelled  his 
own  writings  with  his  cartoons,  yet  his  writ- 
ings, taken  by  themselves,  would  have  made 
a  distinguished  place  for  him.  He  is  one 
of  the  newspaper  cartoon  makers  whose 
cartoons  are  quick  and  penetrating  editorials.  His  fer- 
tility is  amazing,  his  power  of  satire,  his  depth  of  feeling, 
his  broad  sympathy,  are  without  equal  in  that  field.  Take 
three  pictures  for  example;  the  complete  expression  of 
world  sorrow  when  the  great  pope  died — a  picture  of 
the  world  itself  draped  with  a  mourning  band,  not  a 
word  added;  the  expression  of  puzzled  surprise  when 
for  the  first  time  Missouri  went  Republican — all  the 
southern  states  lined  up  and  trying  to  identify  "The 


148  My  Chicago 

Mysterious  Stranger"  who  had  joined  them;  and  the 
tremendous  appeal  to  the  United  States  for  haste,  in  the 
picture  of  France  and  England  with  their  shoulders 
against  the  door  the  German  Emperor  was  trying  to  push 
open.  This  last  appeared  in  the  Chicago  Tribune  late  in 
April  1918,  when  the  German  drive  that  had  begun  in 
March  was  so  dangerously  near  to  wearing  down  the 
French  and  British  lines  between  Amiens  and  Ypres. 
McCutcheon  is  a  world  figure.  During  the  war  he  has 
become  one  of  the  biggest  men  in  Chicago,  the  one  whose 
daily  effort  has  counted  more  for  righteousness  than  the 
work  of  any  dozen  others.  He  is  so  big  that  to  say  this 
does  not  in  any  degree  belittle  any  one  else. 

Bert  Leston  Taylor  might  and  does  thread  his  way 
through  the  throngs  of  the  busiest  streets  in  the  loop, 
brushing  and  being  brushed  by  the  multitudinous  rank 
scented  many,  unnoticed,  unknowing  and  unknown — a 
mild  looking  man,  a  little  (at  least  a  very  little)  past 
middle  life.  The  sort  of  man  you  see  in  prosperous 
commercial  affairs,  responding  to  no  idea  of  literary 
type.  In  that  regard  he  is  very  like  other  newspaper 
people,  who  in  turn  are  very  like  all  other  people, 
provided  the  other  people  are  decent.  Yet  his  name  is 
known  wherever  English  is  spoken,  or  at  any  rate  his 
initials  are:  "B.  L.  T."  Inside  himself  and  to  himself 
he  is  an  inclusive,  initiatory  and  final  authority  in  the 
science  of  golf.  In  the  world  he  is  one  of  the  cleverest 
if  not  the  most  clever  of  all  those  men  who  are  known  as 
column  conductors,  the  men  who  write  in  short  para- 
graphs those  things  which  give  sharp  illumination  to 
passing  events.  He  has  a  strange  gift  of  satire.  His 
column  on  the  editorial  page  of  The  Chicago  Tribune 
is  quoted  more  widely  than  any  other  column  of  its  kind. 
A  good  many  of  his  admirers  wonder  how  on  earth  he 
does  continue  to  keep  it  up  from  day  to  day  without 
deterioration.  The  answer  is  easy.  He  is  a  shrewd 


John   T.  McCutcheon. 


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My  Chicago  149 

editor.  By  inviting  contributions,  and  by  setting  up  a 
sort  of  competition  among  contributors  in  an  effort  to 
"make  the  line,"  and  by  their  natural  growth  in  numbers, 
he  is  in  receipt  of  daily  mail  enough  to  fill  a  half  dozen 
of  such  columns.  That  is  to  say,  he  long  ago  devised  a 
scheme  by  which  a  great  many  outsiders  went  to  work 
for  him.  He  has  thus  reduced  his  labor  to  the  pleasant 
task  of  sorting  his  correspondence,  picking  out  the  best 
ideas,  scrapping  all  the  rest,  and  writing  enough  of  his 
own  stuff  to  let  the  whole  tribe  of  them  know  who  is 
boss.  I  do  not  state  it  as  a  fact  of  my  own  knowledge, 
but  I  have  been  told  by  newspaper  friends  that  Eugene 
Field  was  the  first  to  set  up  this  Tom  Sawyer  system, 
but  B.  L.  T.  is  certainly  the  first  to  have  put  it  into  full 
operation,  and  he  has  no  rival. 

Robert  B.  Peattie  has  worked  in  the  Chicago  Tribune 
office  with  B.  L.  T.  these  many  years;  and  being  himself 
of  a  somewhat  caustic  though  a  kindly  mind  has  had  his 
little  tiffs  and  turns  with  that  illustrious  colleague.  Bob, 
as  he  is  known  by  all  who  care  for  him  and  for  whom  he 
cares,  began  his  newspaper  career  in  the  late  eighteen 
seventies  on  the  Chicago  Times,  which  then  was  the 
greatest  newspaper  published  between  Sandy  Hook  and 
San  Francisco.  Later  on  he  was  on  the  News  with  his  close 
friend  Eugene  Field.  In  the  early  eighteen  eighties  he  had 
a  call  to  a  better  salary  in  Omaha  where,  for  eight  years, 
he  was  editor  of  the  Omaha  World-Herald.  He 
returned  to  Chicago  to  follow  various  newspaper  occu- 
pations which  were  subseqently  extended  to  New  York, 
though  Chicago  has  remained  his  home,  and  here  his 
family  has  grown  up.  Before  he  went  to  Omaha  he  was 
married  to  Miss  Elia  Wilkinson  with  whom  he  had  been 
in  love  ever  since  their  first  meeting  in  Judge  Kohlsaat's 
Sunday  School  on  the  West  Side  when  they  were  little 
more  than  children.  From  the  beginning  Robert  was 
watchful  of  her  tendencies  in  thought,  her  girlish  ambi- 


150  My  Chicago 

tions,  her  taste  in  all  things,  and  began  a  practice  he  has 
kept  up  ever  since,  of  listening  and  suggesting,  of  bring- 
ing her  books  and  all  that.  They  complimented  each 
other  in  mentality,  character  and  sympathies,  and  were 
in  perfect  understanding — a  rare  thing  under  the  sun. 

Mrs.  Peattie  has  become  one  of  the  foremost 
American  reviewers.  It  is  a  near  axiom  that  excellence 
in  criticism,  that  is  in  analysis,  shuts  out  its  possessor 
from  the  creative  power.  Mrs.  Peattie  offers  a  contra- 
diction to  that  opinion.  If  she  had  not  taken  upon  her- 
self the  onerous  duties  of  a  book  reviewer  for  one  of  the 
leading  newspapers  in  all  the  English  speaking  world, 
there  is  no  guessing  how  far  she  might  have  gone  as  a 
writer  of  splendid  fiction;  she  has  the  gift  of  imagination, 
she  has  knowledge  acquired  partly  by  experience  and 
observation,  partly  intuitive  that  gave  her  stories  a 
singular  quality  of  truth.  Perhaps  her  most  important 
book  is  "The  Precipice,"  published  by  Houghton 
Mifflin  and  Co.  and  which  has  many  qualities  of  per- 
manent value.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  she  has  not 
been  able  to  give  more  of  herself  to  sustained  narrative. 
She  has  sat  at  a  work  bench,  so  to  speak,  turning  out 
stuff  for  the  passing  hour,  while  others,  men  and  women 
of  vastly  less  endowment,  have  gone  afield  and  found 
renown  and  fortune  in  more  free  and  wider  forms  of 
expression.  But  if  she  has  not  attained  to  full  measure 
in  her  literary  endeavors  it  has  been  compensated  for  in 
the  fullness  of  life  which  she  has  enjoyed  in  other 
avenues,  the  joy  which  she  has  experienced  in  coming 
in  contact  with  the  many  and  varied  types  of  people  whom 
she  has  met  in  the  course  of  many  lectures  which  she  has 
given,  and  of  the  many  lasting  friendships  formed.  She 
has  been  the  recipient  of  hundreds  of  letters  and  gifts 
from  many  whom  she  has  never  met  not  only  from  the 
higher  planes  of  society  but  from  the  poor,  the  needy 
and  the  unpopular.  These  things  have  given  her  the 


My  Chicago  151 

realization  of  the  highest  living  to   which   she   chiefly 
aspires  and  in  which  she  finds  the  richest  rewards. 

A  unique  experience  in  Mrs.  Peattie's  literary  career 
was  a  practical  joke  which  she  perpetrated  on  Margaret 
Anderson  of  The  Little  Review.  Under  the  pseudonym 
of  Sade  Iverson  she  sent  to  the  magazine  several  Imagist 
poems,  chief  of  which  was  called  "The  Little  Milliner." 
Miss  Anderson  was  completely  mystified;  she  ascribed 
the  writing  of  them  to  Amy  Lowell,  Mary  Aldis,  and 
other  Imagist  writers.  I  had  the  fun  of  divulging  the 
secret  to  an  audience  to  whom  I  was  then  presenting  a 
list  of  Imagist  writers.  The  information  created  much 
surprise  and  amusement. 

In  personal  consideration  I  hold  Elia  Peattie  and 
her  husband  Robert  in  warm  affection.  Their  life 
together,  in  their  home  and  their  family  were  all  that  a 
home  and  family  could  be.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  employ 
the  past  tense  there,  but  their  children  have  grown  up. 
Ned  the  eldest  son  is  in  business  in  New  York,  Rod  is 
serving  his  country  in  France,  and  Don  the  youngest  is 
engaged  in  literary  work.  Their  daughter  Bab  (a  bril- 
liant and  lovable  girl)  has  passed  to  a  better  place  than 
this,  and  the  call  of  new  duties  to  the  public  has  drawn 
Robert  and  Elia  to  New  York. 

In  the  line  of  fictional  literature,  the  one  Chicago 
woman  who  has  made  a  distinct  impression  on  the  mind 
of  the  nation  is  Edna  Ferber.  It  was  Miss  Ferber's 
good  fortune,  a  gift  maybe  from  one  of  those  fairy  god- 
mothers about  whom  we  used  to  hear  so  much,  to  be 
born  with  a  very  kindly  nature,  and  to  have  developed 
a  habit  of  observation.  Very  little  goes  by  without  her 
having  seen  it,  and  back  of  whatever  she  sees  she  finds  a 
reason.  It  is  this  combination  of  sympathy  and  under- 
standing that  has  enabled  her  to  tell  true  stories  of  con- 
temporaneous life,  especially  that  part  of  it  which  is 
concerned  with  commercial  pursuits.  Miss  Ferber  is  a 


My  Chicago 

Michigan  girl.  By  some  trend  of  happenings  of  which 
I  am  unaware  she  found  herself  at  Appleton,  Wisconsin, 
a  reporter  on  The  Daily  Crescent  of  that  town.  After- 
ward she  was  on  the  Milwaukee  Journal,  an  evening 
paper,  and  from  the  Journal  she  came  to  Chicago  and 
took  a  place  on  The  Tribune.  Miss  Ferber's  mother 
was  a  business  woman,  and  from  her  experience  Miss 
Ferber  drew  a  good  groundwork  of  knowledge  of  com- 
mercial things.  Her  newspaper  employment  gave  her 
the  best  sort  of  opportunity  for  widening  that  knowl- 
edge. The  result  was  a  series  of  short  stories  that  came 
slowly  at  first,  but  found  a  ready  market  in  eastern 
magazines.  A  number  of  these  stories  were  brought 
together  in  book  form  and  so  became  permanent  addi- 
tions to  the  great  American  Library.  Everybody  recalls 
the  McChesney  stories,  a  running  account  of  the  experi- 
ences of  Emma  McChesney,  a  travelling  saleswoman, 
that  had  the  merit  of  a  new  point  of  view  and  disclosed 
a  new  line  of  character.  Other  writers  in  these  later 
days  made  haste  to  grab  the  idea,  with  the  result  that 
current  ephemeral  fiction  sparkles  all  over  with  Emma 
McChesneys,  most  of  whom  are  Jewish  ladies,  but  none 
of  whom  are  quite  as  much  alive  as  the  original.  Then 
there  were  "Dawn  O'Hara,"  "Buttered  Side  Down," 
"Roast  Beef  Medium,"  "The  Man  Who  Came  Back," 
and  a  whole  series  of  character  studies,  delightfully 
carried  out  Miss  Ferber  is  a  busy  woman  now  as 
always.  Her  latest  book,  "Sally  Herself,"  was  pub- 
lished in  1917.  I  congratulate  myself  upon  her  being 
my  friend.  Her  face  is  one  of  the  many  that  was  always 
welcome  to  my  Studios,  even  as  her  social  qualities  and 
the  charm  of  her  mentality  fit  so  well  with  the  others 
time  has  so  graciously  brought  around  me. 

Miss  Ferber's  name  suggests  another,  not  by  any 
reason  of  personal  association,  but  because  the  owner 
of  the  other  one  is  also  a  Chicago  woman,  a  copious 


My  Chicago  153 


writer  of  descriptive  narrative,  I  mean  Maude  Radford 
Warren.  Mrs.  Warren  refutes  the  idea  that  an 
academic  education  and  instructorship  are  handicaps  to 
a  popular  writer.  She  has  won  two  degrees  from  the  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago  and  has  been  associated  with  it  both 
as  an  instructor  of  English  and  as  one  of  those  un- 
seen guides  of  the  university  extension  course.  Mrs. 
Warren's  fiction  is  touched  with  satire  and  reveals 
her  predeliction  for  the  repertorial  method.  She  may 
indeed  be  best  described  as  a  sublimated  reporter, 
and  in  the  pursuit  of  her  work  and  as  a  representative 
of  a  number  of  the  liveliest  periodicals  of  the  country, 
she  has  visited  many  of  the  out-of-the-way  places  as  well 
as  scenes  where  news  is  thickest.  She  has  been  to  France 
and  England  several  times  during  the  process  of  the 
war  and  is  now  there  engaged  both  in  canteen  work  and 
in  writing.  The  title  and  chevrons  of  an  honorary  cor- 
poral has  been  given  Mrs.  Warren  recently  for  her  serv- 
ices at  the  front. 

Madeline  Yale  Wynne  though  she  came  to  Chicago 
from  the  east,  made  herself  very  much  a  part  of  us  all. 
As  has  been  stated  elsewhere  her  curious  psychological  ., 
title  "The  Little  Room,"  the  story  of  a  room  which  was 
sometimes  invisible  and  sometimes  visible  gave  the  name 
to  The  Little  Room  that  intimate  and  inimitable  group 
of  artistic  workers  which  not  long  ago  celebrated  its 
twenty-fifth  anniversary  in  Ralph  Clarkson's  Studio. 

Mrs.  Wynne  had  a  bewitching  personality,  and  hardly 
needed  her  skill  as  a  writer,  a  worker  in  the  fine  metals, 
a  painter  and  mural  decorator,  a  violinist  and  general 
artisan,  to  recommend  her.  She  was  a  great  encourager 
of  others  and  liked  persons  of  many  sorts  and  dwellers 
in  many  lands,  she  held  old  age  at  bay  with  a  bright 
gallantry  and  went  out  of  view  with  inevitable  swiftness, 
leaving  behind  her  the  feeling  that  in  her  death  as  in 
her  life,  she  was  victorious  over  circumstances. 


154  My1  Chicago 

At  this  point  I  find  myself  somewhat  in  the  position 
of  Longfellow  toward  the  end  of  his  protracted  con- 
templation of  that  bridge:  "I  see  the  long  procession 
still  passing  to  and  fro."  Such  a  swarm  of  names  has 
entered  into  and  passed  out  of  my  field  of  view,  that  to 
enumerate  or  describe  them  here  would  stretch  this  book 
out  to  the  crack  of  the  printer's  patience.  Please 
remember,  this  is  not  a  history  of  Chicago  nor  a  descrip- 
tive human  catalogue.  I  am  trying  to  let  you  know 
something  about  the  men  and  women  whom  I  know  or 
have  known,  who  have  done  things  sufficiently  good  and 
sufficiently  high  to  give  them  places  among  the  most 
significant  influences  in  the  development  of  the  arts 
and  of  literature  in  this  part  of  the  world;  and  especially 
'  those  with  whom  my  own  work  has  brought  me  in  touch. 
But  I  cannot  close  this  part  of  my  story  without  paying 
tribute  to  the  admirable  and  forceful  patriotism  of  Mrs. 
Jacob  Baur,  sometimes  my  pupil  and  associate,  always 
my  cherished  friend.  Next  after  her  warm  and  generous 
qualities  of  heart  and  mind  comes  her  extraordinary 
executive  ability,  her  power  of  organization,  her  way 
of  grasping  the  essentials  of  any  undertaking  and  deal- 
ing with  them  unerringly,  while  she  sees  to  it  that  details 
are  in  competent  hands.  I  think  her  strength  might 
be  described  as  lying  in  the  power  of  coordination.  She 
has  given  many  an  illustration  of  this  power  in  very  large 
affairs,  some  civic,  some  governmental,  some  social.  But 
to  my  mind  she  never  did  anything  better  nor  with  more 
success  than  her  part  in  floating  the  vast  internal  loans 
to  the  government  for  the  purposes  of  war.  To  tell 
how  she  did  this  war  work,  what  a  prodigious  work  it 
was,  and  yet  with  what  ease  she  seemed  to  get  through 
with  it,  would  fill  a  book.  And  I  am  sure  it  would  be 
a  very  good  book,  which  certainly  would  be  interest- 
ing and  informative.  In  my  humble  opinion  the  town 
does  not  yet,  nor  may  not  until  time  provides  a  per- 


Mrs.  Jacob  Baur. 


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Jessie  Harding. 


My  Chicago  155 

spective,  realize  either  the  value  or  the  splendor  of  Mrs. 
Baur's  service,  freely  given  to  our  nation.  This  exalta- 
tion of  Mrs.  Baur  has  not  been  written  with  any  lack  of 
appreciation  of  the  splendid  work  done  by  other  women 
along  similar  lines. 

The  same  patriotic  zeal  manifested  in  Mrs.  Baur  may 
be  justly  accredited  to  Miss  Jessie  Harding,  who  in  a 
different  field  and  in  another  way  has  demonstrated  her 
love  of  country  and  her  loyalty  to  its  cause.  Among 
her  activities  has  been  the  reading  of  "The  Man  With- 
out a  Country"  to  over  two  hundred  audiences,  with 
musical  accompaniment  arranged  by  Mrs.  Annette  R. 
Jones  and  played  by  Miss  Priscilla  Carver.  Miss  Hard- 
ing has  been  associated  with  me  since  1898,  first  as  pupil 
then  as  assistant  and  associate  teacher.  Of  the  thousands 
of  students  who  have  come  to  me  for  instruction  Miss 
Harding  stands  pre-eminently  the  best  instructor  of  the 
speaking  voice  among  them  all.  Quiet  and  unobtrusive 
in  speech  and  manner,  she  carries  with  her  a  poise  and 
a  gentle  authority  as  refreshing  as  it  is  effective  in  char- 
acter building.  To  her  I  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  which 
can  neither  be  measured  nor  recompensed. 


Chapter  Twenty 


ARRIET  MONROE  is  the  high  priestess 
of  a  cult  that  has  the  incomparable  virtue 
of  taking  itself  seriously.  In  the  early 
nineties  Miss  Monroe  was  for  three  or  four 
years  a  member  of  my  staff  of  teachers.  At 
that  time  Ibsen  was  at  the  height  of  general  discussion. 
Bernard  Shaw  had  just  begun  to  excite  the  human  race 
by  stinging  it  incessantly.  Percy  Mackaye  was  promoting 
himself  as  the  son  of  his  father.  Stephen  Phillips  had 


1 56  My  Chicago 

burgeoned  forth  with:  "Herod,"  and  brief  notes  of 
rebellion  against  the  established  form  of  poetry  and  the 
other  arts  were  making  themselves  heard,  though  as 
afar.  Miss  Monroe  was  predisposed  to  recusance  in 
them,  but  her  knowledge  of  English  literature  and  of  all 
the  more  eccentric  poets  qualified  her  as  a  talker  on  those 
subjects,  and  I  engaged  her  to  deliver  a  lecture  to  my 
pupils  once  a  week.  Toward  the  end  of  that  term  the 
notes  of  rebellion  above  referred  to  had  drawn  quite 
near;  in  fact,  the  rebellion  had  broken  out.  Miss  Mon- 
roe evolved  the  idea  of  a  magazine  which  should  give 
printed  utterance  to  its  wails  and  its  mutterings.  She 
had  no  difficulty  in  securing  the  necessary  financial  back- 
ing, and  her  magazine  became  an  actuality.  It  has  been 
going  on  ever  since.  Its  name  is  "Poetry,  A  Magazine 
of  Verse,"  and  its  annual  subscription  price  is  two  dollars. 
It  is  the  recognized  organ  or  arbiter  of  that  widespread 
movement  against  conventional  forms;  the  conservative 
consider  the  animating  principle  to  be  "Whatever  becomes 
Intelligible  ceases  to  be  Art."  At  any  rate,  its  career 
has  been  a  noble  and  consistent  advocacy  of  the  purpose 
behind  those  words.  With  few  exceptions  Poetry  has 
received  such  recognition  abroad  as  few  American  publi- 
cations can  boast  of. 

To  Miss  Monroe  and  her  magazine  must  be  ac- 
credited the  discovery  of  Tagore  and  Vachel  Lindsay. 
Mr.  Lindsay's  "General  Booth  Enters  Heaven"  first 
appeared  in  Poetry  Magazine,  and  made  a  stunning  and 
well-deserved  impression.  It  would  be  stretching  defini- 
tion too  far  to  call  it  a  poem;  but  it  certainly  was  and  is 
what  the  judicious  outside  the  inner  circle  would  call  "big 
stuff."  It  had  a  pounding  ring,  a  panoply,  a  sustained 
sonority  that  its  author  has  not  followed  up  in  any  of  his 
later  attempts. 

The  discovery  of  Lindsay  gave  the  magazine  fresh 
impetus.  Another  such  impulse  might  have  been  given 
it  if  William  Marion  Reedy  had  not  beaten  Miss  Monroe 


My  Chicago  157 

to  Edgar  Lee  Masters'  "Anthology  of  Spoon  River." 
But  she  has  had  other  contributions  from  Mr.  Masters, 
as  well  as  from  Amy  Lowell,  Charles  G.  Blanden  (John 
Rhudlau)  and  a  long  line  of  less  renowned  though 
equally  incoherent  fabricators  of  verse — free,  whorl, 
inconvertible,  and  of  many  or  of  any  other  formless 
style  that  may  lack  reason,  but  must  lack  rhyme.  Wil- 
liam Butler  Yeats  and  Ezra  Pound  have  also  contributed. 
It  is  possible  that  the  rebellion  touched  its  highest  point 
in  Mr.  Pound's  invention  of  verse  that  reads  just  as  well 
from  the  bottom  up  as  it  does  from  the  top  down. 

As  a  curiosity  of  literature  so  called,  Poetry  is  inval- 
uable to  those  who  have  been  accustomed  to  the  staid 
and  formal  institutions  with  which  our  forefathers  were 
content,  knowing  no  better.  Its  wake  is  wrinkled  with 
smiles,  and  these  would  be  succeeded  by  sad  lappings 
should  its  voyage  end  in  foundering. 

The  memory  of  Miss  Monroe  even  in  case  of  that 
catastrophe  would  outlive  the  memory  of  the  magazine, 
because  in  her  earlier  life  she  wrote  things  that  have 
their  place  in  modern  literature — a  volume  of  poems 
which  contains  her  "Ode  to  Shelly."  Her  "Ode  to 
Columbia,"  celebrating  the  .opening  of  the  World's 
Columbian  Exposition,  stands  out  prominently  as  a  fea- 
ture in  any  retrospect  of  that  great  day  and  that  great 
show.  It  is  found  in  the  anthologies,  and  deserves  a 
place  there.  Critics  of  sound  judgment  accepted  it  with 
full  approbation  as  falling  within  the  best  rules,  and 
embodying  with  dignity  and  yet  with  fervor  the  spirit 
and  significance  of  the  occasion  that  evoked  it. 

Alice  Corbin  Henderson  has  been  a  most  efficient 
co-editor  with  Miss  Monroe  from  the  earliest  days  of 
Poetry  Magazine.  Mrs.  Henderson  has  written  many 
poems  but  she  will  be  more  readily  identified  as  author  of 
the  prose  comment,  critical  and  otherwise  in  that  publica- 
tion. She  has  a  good  style  in  writing  and  must  be 


My  Chicago 

complimented  for  consectivity  in  her  treatment  of  any 
subject  she  takes  up.  She  has  been  a  frequent  contributor 
to  other  periodicals.  A  few  years  ago  Mrs.  Henderson 
wrote  "Adam's  Dream"  and  two  other  mystery  plays 
for  children  which  were  published  by  Scribner. 

Eunice  Tietjens  has  also  been  an  associate  editor  with 
Miss  Monroe.  Not  very  long  ago  Ralph  Fletcher  Sey- 
mour brought  out  a  little  book  of  poems  by  Mrs. 
Tietjens,  called  "Profiles  from  China,"  a  piece  of  work 
good  enough  to  move  Llewellyn  Jones  to  call  it,  "a  serious 
and  penetrating  study,  true  both  to  the  inexplicable 
beauty  and  the  magic  desolation  of  all  human  life." 
And  William  Marion  Reedy  (of  Reedy's  Mirror,  St. 
Louis)  read  it  through  and  made  this  pertinent  com- 
ment: "She  makes  you  hate  the  east."  Mrs.  Tietjens 
has  been  a  frequent  contributor  to  Poetry  and  other 
publications. 

Henry  B.  Fuller  came  unheralded  into  public  notice 
with  the  appearance  of  his  book,  "The  Chevalier 
of  Pensieri-Vani,"  which  won  immediate  recognition  and 
placed  him  as  the  best  stylist  not  only  among  our  Chi- 
cago writers,  but  one  of  the  few  choice  writers  of  Eng- 
lish. His  naturally  retiring  disposition  had  made  him 
almost  as  much  of  a  stranger  as  though  he  had  not  been 
born  in  Chicago,  and  there  was  so  much  of  a  cosmopoli- 
tan flavor  in  his  writing  that  the  east  was  loath  to  believe 
that  he  could  be  accredited  to  a  city  chiefly  noted  for 
its  sky-scrapers  and  its  packing  interests,  and  with  this 
single  credential  command  recognition  as  a  writer  of 
genuine  literature. 

This  claim  he  has  confirmed  in  "The  Chatelaine  of  La 
Trinite,"  "The  Cliff  Dwellers,"  "With  the  Procession," 
"The  Puppet  Booth,"  "From  the  Other  Side,"  "The 
Last  Refuge,"  "Under  the  Skylight,"  "Waldo  Trench," 
"Lines  Long  and  Short,"  "On  the  Stairs,"  and  "Bertram 
Cope." 


My  Chicago  159 

Mr.  Fuller's  friends  and  critics  have  accused  him  of 
being  severe  and  perhaps  unfair  in  his  expressed  reflec- 
tions upon  the  crudity  of  our  city  in  its  evolutionary 
development.  We  will  at  least  credit  him  with  being 
sincere  in  his  recorded  impressions. 

I  once  read  a  book  by  Harold  Frederic  in  which 
occurred  a  character  described  as  a  cross  between  a 
hermit  and  a  canon  regular.  Sometimes  in  considering 
this  friend  of  mine  the  description  seems  to  me  to  fit 
him,  save  for  the  ecclesiastical  limitation  employed.  And 
even  that  might  be  allowed,  for  if  he  is  distinguished 
by  any  one  trait  more  than  another,  that  trait  would  be 
a  lofty  and  contemplative  purity  of  mind.  Hermit 
he  is,  as  nearly  as  anyone  could  be  whose  lot  in  life 
has  fallen  in  noisy  places.  Those  who  know  him  super- 
ficially might  think  him  more  critical  than  sympathetic, 
and  in  their  thoughts  confer  upon  him  the  character  of 
one  who  shrinks  within  himself.  Nothing  could  be 
farther  from  the  truth.  Those  friends  he  has  and  their 
adoption  tried  find  him  sweet  as  summer.  He  may  be 
anomalous,  for  he  is  of  the  world,  yet  not  in  it.  His 
genius  is  creative.  He  has  no  need  to  search  the  gates 
and  alleys  of  life  in  order  that  he  may  know  who  and 
what  they  are  that  go  about  the  world  so  busily,  yet  in 
themselves  mean  so  little.  His  thought  and  his  work  are 
placed  upon  a  level  high  above  the  throng.  His  percep- 
tions have  to  do  with  essentials,  and  his  manner  of 
expressing  them  is  perfect.  There  is  no  writer  extant 
whose  understanding  of  the  human  spirit  and  the  human 
character  is  more  sympathetic  or  more  true.  His  knowl- 
edge of  character  is  so  wide  that  it  includes  the  saving 
element  of  humor;  but  his  artistry  withholds  him  from 
the  overuse  of  that  element.  His  way  of  life  is  modest, 
almost  seclusive,  quiet.  Popularity  and  the  social  muni- 
ments that  inhere  in  it  are  repellant  to  his  nature.  I 
doubt  whether  there  is  anyone  who  lives  more  strictly 


160  My  Chicago 

the  intellectual  life.  His  joy  is  in  his  work,  and  his 
works  are  in  the  world  to  stay. 

William  Vaughn  Moody,  who  was  called  away  all 
too  soon,  left  behind  him  a  body  of  work  the  value  of 
which  is  recognized  everywhere.  His  abilities  were 
various.  He  is  becoming  recognized  in  those  more  cos- 
mopolitan European  centers  where  Arts  and  Letters 
are  more  definitely  appreciated,  as  the  most  important 
modern  poet  in  America.  The  public  knew  him  best  by 
his  plays  "The  Great  Divide"  and  "The  Faith  Healer." 
But  he  wrote  a  great  deal  of  verse,  and  one  piece  that  is 
already  in  the  Anthologies  and  is  likely  to  stay — The 
Fire-Bringer.  Who  knows  what  splendid  possibilities 
were  blotted  out  when  he  was  called  across  the  Great 
Divide. 

When  I  first  came  to  Chicago  Mrs.  Amelia  Gere 
Mason  held  high  place  among  the  writers  living  here. 
It  is  a  happy  thing  to  be  able  to  say  that  now,  after  a 
considerable  number  of  yesterdays,  the  beauty  of  her 
thought  and  the  grace  of  its  expression  still  command 
admiring  attention.  Her  writings,  especially  her  books 
on  the  Women  of  the  French  Salon,  the  Women  of  the 
Golden  Age,  are  human  documents,  wisely  informative, 
and  are  valuable  contributions  to  a  fine  form  of  literature. 
To  me  they  might  be  symbolized  by  a  broadly  cut  cameo, 
well  balanced  in  design  and  exquisitely  finished. 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  meet  Mrs.  Mason  many 
times  a  year  at  the  meetings  in  the  Little  Room.  Per- 
haps I  may  convey  to  others  the  best  and  most  fitting 
impression  if  I  say  that  to  me  she  typifies  the  aristocrat 
as  our  best  traditions  preserve  that  type. 


My  Chicago  161 


Chapter  Twenty-one 

is  just  as  well  that  the  multitudinous  person- 
ality known  as  the  man  in  the  street  is  not 
always  aware  of  those  with  whom  he  brushes 
elbows.  If  he  were  his  complacency  would 
be  disturbed  and  his  comfort  forgotten  many 
times  a  day.  This  thought  was  brought  home  only  the 
other  day  when  I  saw  men  and  boys  and  a  few  women 
who  in  the  nature  of  things  must  have  had  occupation  of 
one  kind  or  another,  streaming  in  a  great  flock,  first 
across  the  street,  then  down  the  street,  then  gathering 
in  and  milling  around  before  the  door  of  an  hotel,  then 
flocking  off  again  down  the  street,  then  around  a  cor- 
ner, all  the  time  being  joined  by  other  men  and  boys 
and  women,  and  all  of  them  jostling  and  looking  in 
the  same  direction.  A  little,  a  very  little  in  advance, 
walked  a  heavily  built  fellow  with  his  hat  off.  Inquiry 
disclosed  the  reason  for  all  this.  The  hatless  one  was 
William  S.  Hart.  The  man  in  the  street  had  suddenly 
discovered  that  he  had  brushed  elbows  with  the  man  of 
the  screen. 

Now,  there  are  many  men  and  some  women  here  of 
local,  national,  even  international  renown  (more  or  less), 
all  of  whom  stand  for  more  substantial  things  than  any 
film  star  could  ever  hope  for,  since  the  film  star's  best 
performance  is  only  a  shadow,  having  but  two  dimensions, 
and  totally  lacking  the  spirit  of  life  that  can  flow  into 
expression  only  by  the  use  of  words;  whereas  the  others, 
having  unparaded  faces,  but  brain  enough  to  serve 
superior  minds  in  uttering  things  worth  while  (more  or 
less),  rub  elbows  freely  every  day  with  the  multitudinous 
many,  who  in  all  liklihood  never  had  a  thought  worth 


162  My  Chicago 

while,  and  whose  vocabulary  in  average  would  not 
exceed  eight  hundred  words. 

Edgar  Lee  Masters  lives  in  Chicago  and  makes  his 
honest  living  in  the  practice  of  law.  To  save  your  life 
you  could  not  tell,  to  look  at  him,  that  he  made  his 
living  or  lived  his  life  in  any  way  essentially  different  from 
the  way  of  the  man  in  the  street.  Yet  Edgar  Lee  Mas- 
ters, stepping  over  the  stile  of  his  own  field,  has  roamed 
abroad  over  the  sweet  plains  of  poesy,  culling  nothing, 
but  planting  much.  It  is  true  that  none  of  his  planting  has 
had  time  to  burgeon,  even  to  flower  in  full,  so  that  nobody 
as  yet  can  tell  what  it  is  really,  or  is  going  to  be. 
Thus  an  active  curiosity  has  buzzed  his  name  into  the 
winds  that  gently  ventilate  inquiring  minds;  and  thus  his 
poesy  has  been  much  circulated  and  is  much  discussed. 
The  one  certainty  attached  to  Mr.  Masters  and  his  output 
is  that  he  wrote  "The  Anthology  of  Spoon  River" — and 
that  "The  Anthology  of  Spoon  River"  is  long.  In  say- 
ing all  this  I  am  stating  a  general  view.  In  my  own 
opinion  "Spoon  River,"  taken  either  in  its  entirety  or 
by  isolated  details,  is  a  remarkable  production,  first  for 
its  general  plan,  next  for  its  power  to  impress;  and 
finally  for  the  mere  humanity,  the  pure  poetic  feeling 
and  expression  that  animate  some  of  its  parts.  It  might 
be  described  as  a  village  Iliad,  so  true  that  with  a  change 
in  nomenclature  might  have  been  the  anthology  of  a 
village  anywhere.  That  is  to  say,  it  has  one  trait  that 
appears  in  all  the  great  poems  of  all  time,  so  far  as  we 
know  the  history  of  poetry — the  trait  of  universality. 
No  trait  is  higher  nor  any  so  rare.  Mr.  Masters  has 
written  many  other  poems,  but  in  "Spoon  River"  he  may 
be  credited  with  having  touched  the  level  of  Oliver  Gold- 
smith's "Deserted  Village,"  though  in  form  and  style 
it  is  larger,  more  diffuse,  and  lacks  the  sustained  beauty 
of  that  sweetly,  wistfully  memorable  revery. 

I  am  happy  in  saying  that  the  circle  of  my  friendships 


My  Chicago  163 

include  not  only  Mr.  Masters  but  many  another  of  those 
who  live  here  and  who  have  distinguished  themselves  in 
letters.  Take  for  example  Hamlin  Garland,  who  is 
widely  recognized  as  a  writer  of  histories  of  emigrant 
and  pioneer  life,  filled  with  local  color.  He  began  his 
literary  career  in  Boston,  where  he  published  "Main 
Traveled  Roads."  This  story  of  frontier  life  in  Wis- 
consin best  illustrates  Mr.  Garland  as  a  chronicler  of 
desolate  life  on  the  prairie  and  as  a  sympathetic  delin- 
eator of  primitive  types.  In  his  next  volume,  entitled 
"Crumbling  Idols"  he  demolished  Shakespeare  and  all 
the  other  gods  and  Ikons,  downing  all  established  con- 
ventions. Having  written  himself  out  in  that  line  he 
came  into  the  fine  atmosphere  of  the  middle  west  with 
Chicago  as  a  focus,  where  he  married  Zuleme  Taft,  the 
sister  of  his  friend  Lorado  Taft,  wore  evening  clothes 
(which  up  to  that  time  he  had  stubbornly  refused  to  do), 
and  returned  to  his  stories  of  the  frontier.  A  few  years 
ago  he  took  up  his  residence  in  New  York.  His  last 
book,  "A  Son  of  the  Middle  Border"  published  in  1917, 
is  his  autobiography.  Mr.  Garland  has  been  made  a 
member  of  the  Academy  of  Arts  and  Letters. 

It  is  right  and  proper  to  state  that  Chicago  is  indebted 
to  Mr.  Garland  for  having  founded  The  Cliff  Dwellers, 
the  leading  organization  for  artistic  men. 

One  of  the  most  popular  forms  of  native  fiction  is 
that  which  concerns  itself  with  the  cattleman.  And  the 
cattleman  of  fiction  is  mythical;  yet  he  persists  and 
swaggers  across  the  page  and  across  the  screen,  pic- 
turesque and  utterly  untrue. 

Two  writers,  and  only  two,  have  given  us  the  range 
and  the  cattleman  with  fidelity, — Emerson  Hough  and 
Harry  Leon  Wilson.  Wilson's  work  is  openly  fictitious; 
Hough's  is  historic,  and  for  this  reason  it  is  the  better. 
It  preserves  for  these  and  later  days  a  faithful  record 


164  My  Chicago 

of  a  period  that  was  at  once  prosaic  and  fruitful  in 
romance. 

The  best  of  Mr.  Hough's  writings  have  come  within 
the  last  fifteen  years.  During  those  years  the  prairie 
provinces  of  Canada  have  been  opened  to  occupation. 
In  southern  Saskatchewan  and  Alberta  across  the  line 
from  the  old  ranges  of  Montana  the  cattle  interest 
became  active,  the  life  of  our  own  early  west  was  acted 
over  again.  Mr.  Hough's  personal  knowledge  of  chang- 
ing conditions  governing  the  life  on  the  prairies  from 
Mexico  on  the  south  to  the  Arctic  circle  on  the  north, 
is  wider  than  that  of  any  other  man.  This  accounts 
for  the  straightforward  and  convincing  quality  of  his 
stories.  In  none  of  them  will  you  find  the  shop-wearing, 
whooping,  six-gun  creature  who  rollics,  and  roars  and 
makes  a  nuisance  of  himself  in  the  typical  cowboy  story; 
nor  will  you  read  any  of  the  hyperbolic,  weirdly  meta- 
phoric  language  in  which  the  cowboy  is  suffered  to 
express  himself.  Mr.  Hough  is  a  man  of  the  world  and 
has  a  happy  way  of  making  his  readers  see  what  he 
himself  sees.  The  list  of  his  books  is  long.  It  includes 
several  that  deal  with  economics  and  with  events  that 
had  a  bearing  on  the  development  of  North  American 
history.  If  I  were  asked  how  to  class  him  I  would  be  at 
a  loss  for  to  me  he  constitutes  a  class  of  his  own. 

He  himself  takes  most  seriously  his  historical  fiction — 
"The  Mississippi  Bubble,"  "54-40  or  Fight,"  "The  Mag- 
nificent Adventure."  He  believes  (and  acts  upon  this 
belief)  that  our  history  is  as  interesting  and  as  rich  in 
the  dramatic,  as  that  of  any  other  country,  in  any  other 
age. 

S.  E.  Kiser  has  a  peculiar  understanding  of  the  modes 
of  thought  and  living  that  prevail  among  the  great 
majority  of  the  people  in  the  northern  states.  As  I  have 
said  in  another  connection  these  people  constitute  the 
bulk  of  our  solid  body  of  common  sense,  especially  in 


My  Chicago  165 

the  states  that  are  called  the  middle  west,  but  should  be 
called  the  north  central.  He  loomed  large  and  first  in 
the  Cleveland  Leader  about  twenty  years  ago.  The 
"Little  Georgie"  of  his  feature  work  in  that  paper  was 
a  perfect  example  of  all  that  characterizes  the  growing 
boy  whom  all  of  us  know  so  well.  He  was  a  shrewd 
little  chap  full  of  enterprise,  some  of  it  mischievous; 
and  unconsciously  keen  in  judging  his  elders.  His  suc- 
cess there  brought  him  an  offer  from  the  Chicago  Her- 
ald, and  in  that  paper  he  became  a  national  character. 
Mr.  Kiser  is  a  poet,  almost  kaleidoscopic  in  his  manner 
of  changing  the  lights,  from  the  homely  or  grotesque  to 
those  that  sometimes  touch  points  almost  sublime.  He 
is  the  most  kindly  humorist  that  ever  found  expression 
through  an  American  daily  paper.  To  say  that  is  not  to 
derogate  Eugene  Field,  because  Gene,  while  usually  kind, 
sometimes  was  vitriolic.  Mr.  Kiser  has  issued  several 
books.  One  of  them  "Sonnets  of  An  Office  Boy,"  a  col- 
lection of  a  series  that  appeared  in  the  Herald  had 
instant  vogue  and  still  is  selling.  Any  man  who  ever 
had  an  office  boy  or  ever  had  been  one  himself  took  to 
it  with  avidity,  it  was  so  true.  I  always  have  had  an 
idea  that  he  might  have  made  a  novelist,  had  fortune 
favored  him  with  any  leisure.  Fortune  never  did.  He 
is  a  hard  working  Journalist.  His  present  engagement 
is  with  The  Times  of  Dayton,  Ohio.  If  ever  he  knew 
any  one  who  did  not  become  his  friend  I  have  yet  to  hear 
of  it.  He  is  not  a  rounder,  but  these  many  friends  he 
has,  find  him  companionable  in  all  the  best  meanings  of 
the  word. 

Not  because  they  have  many  resemblances  in  com- 
mon, but  because  their  newspaper  popularity  coin- 
cided here  in  Chicago,  Kiser  and  Wilbur  D.  Nesbit  are 
thought  of  together.  That  is  the  name  of  one  always 
suggests  the  name  of  the  other.  Nesbit's  gifts  were 
more  definitely  poetic  in  their  direction  than  Riser's 


166  My  Chicago 

were.  His  tendency  was  toward  satire,  though  his  satire 
was  adroit,  not  biting.  He  had  a  quick  eye  for  character 
and  perhaps  was  at  his  best  in  letting  character  display 
itself  rather  than  by  disclosing  it.  One  of  the  funniest 
things  he  ever  gave  out  was  a  recitation  of  "Curfew  Shall 
Not  Ring  Tonight"  with  parenthetic  instructions  for 
action  and  business  accompanying  the  words.  From 
time  to  time  he  has  made  collections  of  his  verses  in 
book  form  and  they  have  sold  remarkably  well. 

Nesbit  is  peculiarly  differentiated  from  the  general 
run  of  writers,  in  that  he  has  a  strong  instinct  for  things 
commercial.  He  has  been  paid  more  money  for  writing 
advertisements,  than  most  poets  can  lay  hands  upon  in 
a  life  time.  A  few  years  ago  he  abandoned  literature  as 
such  for  that  more  profitable  field.  He  is  at  the  head  of 
a  successful  advertising  house,  I  think  President  of  the 
Advertisers  Association.  He  recently  contributed  to  the 
mass  of  war  poems,  "Your  Flag  and  My  Flag"  which 
has  sold  by  the  million  copies. 

It  was  my  pleasure  to  have  Frank  H.  Spearman  and 
his  son  under  my  tutelage  at  one  time.  Mr.  Spearman 
first  came  into  public  notice  as  a  writer  of  railway  stories. 
He  familiarized  himself  with  railway  conditions  as  they 
affected  the  lives  and  distilled  the  characters  of  the  men 
who  actually  operate  railways.  His  studies  of  these  men 
included  all  grades,  from  section  hands  up  to  general 
superintendents.  His  stories  of  railway  operations  and 
railway  men  are  the  most  vivid  and  the  truest  ever  pro- 
duced by  any  American  writer.  They  brought  him  into 
international  reputation.  Among  his  books  are  "The 
Nerve  of  Foley"  in  1900,  "Held  for  Orders"  in  1901, 
"Whispering  Smith"  in  1906,  and  "Nan  of  Music  Moun- 
tain" in  1916. 

Wallace  Rice  is  an  unusual  personality.  He  is  aca- 
demic. He  has  read  widely  and  germinated  a  set  of 


My  Chicago  167 

opinions  that  he  holds  with  firm  rigidity.  But  he  has 
two  entirely  human  gifts;  swift  and  withering  retort, 
and  a  sense  of  humor  that  is  both  warm  and  deep.  He 
is  a  Harvard  man  and  was  educated  in  the  law,  but  he 
switched  abruptly  into  newspaper  work  and  became  a  first 
rate  feature  writer.  While  he  was  on  the  city  staff  of 
The  Chicago  Herald,  there  came  along  a  certain  Pro- 
fessor Garner  who  had  spent  some  years  in  the  wild  parts 
of  Africa  getting  acquainted  with  monkeys  and  satisfying 
himself  that  they  had  a  language  of  their  own.  In  exploi- 
tation of  this  discovery  Professor  Garner  had  elaborated 
a  lecture  and  travelled  through  the  country  delivering  it 
and  being  interviewed.  The  evening  of  his  arrival  in 
Chicago,  one  of  the  boys  came  back  to  the  office  about 
eleven  o'clock  and  the  man  on  the  city  desk  asked  him 
where  in  blazes  he  had  been. 

"Been  interviewing  Professor  Garner"  said  the 
reporter. 

"Who  the  blazes  is  he?" 

"He's  the  man  who  says  monkeys  can  talk." 

Mildly  inquired  Wallace  Rice,  "Could  he  understand 
you?" 

I.  K.  Friedman  was  intended  for  the  law,  but  found  his 
medium  of  expression  in  sociological  work,  first  in  the 
newspapers,  then  in  books,  then  back  again  into  the  news- 
papers in  which  he  has  devloped  strength  enough  to  make 
his  return  to  the  book  field  a  matter  of  doubt.  In  the 
later  eighteen  hundreds  and  the  earlier  nineteen  hundreds 
he  issued  three  books  of  fictional  narrative  which  com- 
manded immediate  public  attention  and  had  a  pretty  good 
vogue  during  the  time  that  covered  things  as  he  saw  them, 
and  the  coming  of  other  things  that  crowded  those  things 
out.  Perhaps  the  best  known  of  them  was  a  collection  of 
short  stories  with  the  title  "The  Lucky  Number."  Wil- 
liam Dean  Howells  was  pleased  to  say  it  was  the  best 


1 68  My  Chicago 

first  book  by  any  new  author  he  ever  had  read.  The  other 
two  were  "Poor  People"  and  "By  Bread  Alone." 

Edith  Wyatt  has  been  abundant  in  ideas  and  is  herself 
so  sound  a  critic  of  her  own  work  that  she  has  put  only 
her  best  into  her  books.  Of  all  those  writers  whom 
I  personally  know,  she  comes  nearest,  in  a  combina- 
tion of  charm,  solidity,  and  what  I  might  call  the  mas- 
culine quality  of  thought,  to  that  other  Edith,  who  lives 
in  New  England  and  inherited  the  name  of  Wharton. 
I  can  say  this  in  an  honest  desire  to  convey  an  honest 
compliment — not  to  institute  a  strict  comparison. 

Robert  Herrick  belongs  to  the  quadrangle  group  of 
the  University  of  Chicago  but  has  mixed  with  the  resi- 
dents of  the  desolate  plains  which  stretch  away  from 
those  scholastic  walls  and  support  a  race,  a  population, 
whose  only  commendation  to  any  notice  by  the  truly 
superior  lies  in  the  bald  and  indifferent  fact  of  their 
being  human,  at  least  in  part.  Mr.  Herrick  has  written 
several  books  descriptive  of  social  life  among  these 
homuncules,  which  the  creatures  themselves  have  thank- 
fully read,  yea,  even  they  that  dwell  and  subsist  within 
the  farther  rims  of  those  plains  which  they  as  aforesaid 
have  inherited  for  a  dwelling  place.  Some  of  these 
books  have  descended  upon  those  that  dwell  in  happier 
lands  beyond  the  seas,  who  understood  the  words  that 
he  has  written,  and  received  them  even  as  manna.  "Let 
your  light  so  shine  that  men  shall  see  your  good  works 
and  glorify,"  and  so  forth.  At  times  he  rises  to  heights 
far  above  these  plains,  and  produces  a  masterpiece  like 
his  short  and  poignant  story,  "The  Master  of  the  Inn." 

Will  Payne  is  a  writer  of  contemporaneous  life,  finan- 
cial stories  of  deals  in  corporations.  All  his  works  are 
marked  by  a  human  and  tender  quality.  I  think  it  would 
be  almost  a  derogation  to  call  him  a  stylist,  especially  if 
the  word  were  to  be  taken  in  its  usual  meaning.  He  is 
better  than  that.  He  is  a  man  whose  ideas  are  always 


My  Chicago  169 

good,  always  luminous,  and  whose  manner  of  expression 
is  limpid.  No  man  writes  better  English. 

Henry  Kitchell  Webster  is  best  known  to  me  as  one  of 
The  Little  Room  group,  and  I  have  to  confess  a  slighter 
acquaintance  with  his  books  than  with  those  of  his  im- 
mediate contemporaries  and  fellow  members.  But  I  am 
inclined  to  give  his  story  of  "The  Great  Adventure"  a 
pretty  high  place — and  I  know  it  has  been  accorded 
wide  and  warm  approval  by  those  whose  judgment  is 
better  than  my  own.  He  is  a  young  man  with  his  best 
work  before  him. 

Edgar  Rice  Burroughs  is  a  young  man,  who  made  a 
splendid  beginning  with  a  totally  impossible  but  singularly 
absorbing  story  called  "Tarzan  of  the  Apes."  Tarzan 
was  a  success  so  immediate  and  so  strong  that  he  has 
followed  it  up  with  other  Tarzan  stories,  thereby  in- 
curring a  danger  inherent  in  any  theme  that  is  over- 
worked. When  he  gets  Tarzan  completely  out  of  his 
system  and  goes  back  to  his  original  fountain  of  inven- 
tion, he  will  probably  bring  thence  much  more  that  will 
be  equally  refreshing  with  the  Tarzan  of  his  first  ap- 
pearance. 

When  Mary  Hastings  Bradley  was  graduated  from 
Smith  College  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  become  an 
author  and  to  found  her  first  book  upon  Anne  Boleyn. 
She  accordingly  went  to  England  and  made  special  prep- 
aration for  the  work,  which  was  published  in  1912,  under 
the  title  "The  Favor  of  Kings."  In  1914  she  published 
"The  Palace  of  Darkened  Windows,"  and  "The  Splen- 
did Chance"  in  1915.  She  has  contributed  many  stories 
to  Harpers  and  other  magazines,  and  is  among  our 
younger  successful  Chicago  writers. 

Another  among  our  younger  writers  is  Anne  Higgin- 
son  Spicer  who  published  only  last  year  through  the 
house  of  Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour  a  book  called  "Songs 
from  the  Skokie  and  Other  Verse."  For  the  benefit  of 


170  My  Chicago 

those  who  may  not  know  it  let  me  say  that  Skokie  is 
the  Indian  name  for  a  marshy  piece  of  country  lying  back 
of  the  ridge  that  runs  north  from  Evanston  and  parallels 
Lake  Michigan.  The  volume  contains  among  other 
things  a  group  of  short  poems  called  Real  People,  among 
which  is  one  addressed  to  Alan  Seeger,  the  lamented  poet 
of  the  Foreign  Legion  who  died  in  a  charge  at  Belloy-en 
Santerre  July  4,  1916,  and  whose  name  is  immortalized 
by  his  poem,  "A  Rendezvous  with  Death." 

Alan  Seeger. 

Soldier,  you  kept  your  rendezvous  with  death 
Bravely  at  that  disputed  barricade, 
Poet,  you  met  the  terror  undismayed, 
Unconquered  by  the  fear  that  conquereth, 
In  the  chill  hour  when  all  else  vanisheth 
Your  gleaming  flower  of  courage  did  not  fade 
A  singing  warrior,  valiant,  unafraid, 
You  cheered  your  comrades  with  your  waning  breath. 
The  soul  that  claimed  all  earthly  beauty  knew 
That  death  thus  met  was  part  of  beauty  too. 
And  though  your  path  inevitably  led 
Where  laurelled  vistas  let  the  sunshine  through, 
Yet  future  lads  shall  march  with  surer  tread 
Because  you  did  not  fail  your  rendezvous. 

After  the  taking  of  Jerusalem  by  the  English  Mrs. 
Spicer  wrote  a  stirring  poem  called  "The  Last  Crusade," 
which  seems  to  me  to  be  her  best  effort  up  to  the  present 
time. 

Miss  Julia  Cooley  is  probably  the  youngest  of  all 
the  literary  women  of  Chicago.  She  has  done  enough 
to  command  attention,  even  more,  considerable  admira- 
tion for  some  of  her  performances.  Lewellyn  Jones  a 
man  whose  judgment  must  command  respect  and  whose 
prophecies  of  the  future  of  new  writers  has  never  yet 


My  Chicago  171 

failed  of  fulfillment  looks  to  Miss  Cooley's  talent  for 
brilliant  fruition,  a  prophecy  all  of  us  hail  with  hope. 
Her  first  pubished  volume  bears  the  title,  "Poems  ot  a 
Child."  Richard  Le  Gallienne  wrote  the  introduction 
and  Harpers  published  it. 


Chapter  Twenty-two 

N  EVERY  city  of  the  first  class  and  in  many 
a  country  town  there  is  sure  to  be  a  number 
of  people  who  think  they  have  a  message  to 
be  delivered  or  a  purpose  to  be  wrought  out. 

By  some  strange  quirk  of  fate  the  idea  of  a 

magazine  seems  to  strike  these  people  as  the  one  pre- 
senting widest  possibilities  for  their  propaganda — or 
whatever  it  may  be  they  have  or  think  they  have  in  view. 
This  common  error  accounts  at  once  for  the  extraordi- 
nary number  of  periodicals,  publications  that  flicker  in 
and  flicker  out  from  year  to  year,  like  a  recurring  rash, 
all  over  the  country. 

Chicago  has  had  its  full  share  of  these  pinwheel  prints 
— on  full  consideration,  more  than  its  share.  Only  a  few 
are  worth  remembering.  Of  those  few  still  fewer  re- 
main; the  rest  are  like  the  dear  dead  days  now  gone 
beyond  recall. 

President  Van  Buren  declared  a  land  district  with  its 
offices  at  Chicago  in  1836,  when  the  town  was  a  sprawling 
village  on  the  edge  of  a  marsh.  Seven  years  later,  in 
1843,  tne  village  literati  burst  into  view  with  the  first 
local  magazine.  Considering  the  infantile  stage  through 
which  the  town  was  living,  it  was  happily  called  "The 
Youth's  Gazette."  The  next  year,  1844,  "The  Gem  of 
the  Prairie"  made  its  appearance.  "The  Gem  of  the 
Prairie"  persists  unto  this  day,  in  The  Sunday  Tribune. 


172  My  Chicago 

It  was  absorbed  by  The  Tribune  as  a  Sunday  edition 
in  1854.  When  "The  Youth's  Gazette"  had  expired  of 
inanition,  there  came  another  sweet  young  thing  called 
"The  Youth's  Western  Banner."  Chicago  may  without 
fear  claim  priority  in  juvenile  periodicals,  for  after  these 
two,  in  1865,  came  "The  Little  Corporal,"  antedating 
"St.  Nicholas"  by  ten  years. 

"The  Little  Corporal"  was  more  than  a  fad.  It  must 
have  been  good,  for  it  jumped  to  a  circulation  of  over 
one  hundred  thousand  in  its  first  year.  Between  "The 
Youth's  Western  Banner"  and  "The  Little  Corporal" 
"The  Western  Magazine"  came  in  and  went  out;  so 
did  "The  Literary  Budget"  and  "The  Chicago  Record." 
The  first  serious  literary  magazine  followed  close  upon 
the  heels  of  "The  Little  Corporal."  It  was  called  "The 
Northwestern  Quarterly  Magazine."  I  am  glad  to  be 
able  to  say  "The  Northwestern  Quarterly"  took  a  place  at 
once  among  the  best  American  literary  magazines.  A 
contemporaneous  critic  said  that  its  first  number  was 
"the  best  first  number  of  any  magazine  published  in  this 
country."  That  splendid  line  established  itself  as  a  per- 
manent locution  in  critical  notices  of  first  numbers  of 
pretty  much  all  the  magazines  and  most  of  the  books  that 
have  been  produced  since  then.  Whether  or  not  the 
locution  expressed  a  truth  signifies  nothing.  It  never 
misled  anyone  nor  did  any  harm;  and  it  has  warmed  the 
hearts  of  hundreds  of  editors  and  of  editors'  angels,  at 
junctures  when  a  little  warmth  was  needed. 

James  Grant  Wilson  was  the  editor  of  "The  North- 
western," a  man  of  force,  who  had  a  well-formed  style 
in  writing,  most  excellent  judgment  in  the  selection  of 
material,  and  good  taste  in  typography. 

The  next  man  of  whom  the  same  thing  can  be  said 
truthfully  was  Francis  Fisher  Browne,  who  founded  and 
edited  "The  Lakeside  Monthly  in  1870."  He  was  the 
first  real  editor  of  a  real  magazine  in  this  real  old  town. 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


My  Chicago  173 

"The  Lakeside"  suspended  in  1874.  Mr.  Browne  became 
managing  editor  of  "The  Alliance,"  a  periodical  that  had 
been  founded  a  year  before  by  Prof.  David  Swing,  the 
Rev.  Robert  Collyer,  the  Rev.  Hiram  W.  Thomas  and  a 
few  others.  "The  Alliance"  was  a  powerful  promoter  of 
independent  religious  thinking,  a  leader  in  the  movement 
stirred  up  by  those  men  and  others  like  them  who  had 
wearied  of  submediseval  Christianity.  It  ran  until  1882, 
and  Mr.  Browne,  by  that  time  having  acquired  standing 
with  the  liberal-minded  people  in  this  neighborhood  and 
the  respect  of  all  who  had  any  real  love  for  literature, 
started  "The  Dial." 

"The  Dial"  at  once  impressed  the  public,  and  became 
an  influence  in  the  higher  literary  affairs  of  the  whole 
Union.  It  so  remains,  with  every  prospect  of  so  continu- 
ing, for  its  present  editors  and  managers  have  wisely 
maintained  the  tone  imparted  by  Mr.  Browne.  It  is  the 
one  and  only  standard  literary  periodical  issuing  from 
Chicago,  and  one  of  the  few  issued  anywhere  in  America 
that  is  accepted  upon  equal  terms  by  the  best  reviews  and 
literary  journals  of  the  British  empire.  The  Dial  of- 
fices have  recently  been  moved  to  New  York. 

In  the  nine  years  between  1871  and  1880,  forty-seven 
periodicals  of  a  literary  or  quasi  literary  nature  were 
born  and  died.  I  don't  believe  anybody  remembers  them, 
because  I  am  quite  certain  nobody  has  specialized  in 
memorizing  things  that  were  not  worth  while. 

In  1883  Edgar  Wakeman  established  a  pretty  good 
weekly  called  "The  Current."  It  lasted  two  years,  and 
might  have  been  going  yet  if  Mr.  Wakeman  had  not 
taken  fright  over  a  debt  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  and 
disappeared  one  night,  to  be  discovered  two  or  three 
months  later  in  a  Trappist  monastery  somewhere  in  Wis- 
consin. I  think  he  became  a  monk,  and  died  there.  The 
incident  was  unhappy  and  unnecessary,  for  Melville 
Stone  or  any  one  of  several  of  his  friends  would  have  been 


174  My  Chicago 

glad  to  tide  him  over,  and  "The  Current"  might  have 
gone  on.  It  was  revived  afterward  by  Slason  Thompson 
and  another  man  whose  name  I  cannot  recall,  and  had 
quite  a  run  for  awhile,  dying  of  causes  interior  to  itself. 

A  monthly  called  "Literary  Life"  was  established  in 
1888,  and  astonished  everybody  by  living  three  years. 

The  first  distinctive  and  completely  successful  fictional 
magazine  came  along  in  the  nineties.  It  was  called  "The 
Red  Book"  but  its  founders  and  promoters  paid  out  some- 
where around  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  before  they 
got  it  on  its  feet.  Its  success  was  so  great  that  the  same 
people  followed  it  with  two  other  magazines,  "The  Blue 
Book"  and  "The  Green  Book."  These  three  bacame 
national  in  reputation  and  sale.  The  first  one,  "The  Red 
Book,"  outranks  all  others  in  its  class,  wherever  pub- 
lished. 

But  in  the  meantime,  between  "Literary  Life"  and 
"The  Red  Book"  there  was  a  swarm  of  semi-literary, 
dramatic  and  serial  publications.  Of  all  these,  two  stand 
out  as  having  intrinsic  merit,  "Elite"  and  "The  Saturday 
Evening  Herald."  "Elite"  was  established  in  1881  by 
The  Elite  Publishing  Company,  of  which  Mary  Stuart 
Armstrong  was  President.  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  its 
editor,  a  clever  woman  endowed  with  good  gifts,  thor- 
oughly competent.  Under  her  direction  "Elite"  carried 
on  successfully  through  seventeen  years,  until  1908,  not 
long  before  her  death. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  had  the  support  of  a  great  following 
of  people  in  what  is  called  society — especially  of  women. 
Only  one  other  woman  held  anything  like  the  same  au- 
thority. Emma  Paulding  Scott  had  no  magazine  of 
her  own,  but  she  became  society  editor  of  The  Chicago 
Evening  Post  about  twenty  years  ago,  and  at  once  com- 
manded attention.  Miss  Scott  still  holds  that  responsible 
position  with  undiminished  efficiency.  She  has  seen  many 
a  social  set  dissolve,  to  be  succeeded  by  other  social  sets 


My  Chicago  175 

that  in  their  turn  dissolved,  and  so  on  up  to  this  present 
year. 

uThe  Saturday  Evening  Herald"  was  established  in 
1875  by  George  McConnell,  JLyman  B.  Glover  and  John 
M.  Dandy.  It  was  distinctively  a  social  organ,  but  it 
published  a  great  deal  in  the  way  of  essays  and  stories 
that  might  have  appeared  with  credit  in  any  magazine 
of  general  circulation.  It  jumped  into  recognition  almost 
at  once,  and  prospered  exceedingly,  until  the  Sunday  is- 
sues of  the  daily  papers  began  piling  up  society  depart- 
ments at  a  rate  and  in  proportions  growing  so  fast  that 
they  crowded  it  off  the  carpet.  "The  Saturday  Evening 
Herald"  finally  fell  into  the  hands  of  Edward  Freiberger, 
who  had  for  years  been  a  member  of  the  Inter  Ocean 
local  staff  and  who  was  said  to  know  and  be  known  by 
a  greater  number  of  prominent  people  than  any  other  man 
in  Chicago.  But  he  came  too  late.  He  stuck  it  out 
manfully  for  awhile,  until  at  last  the  poor  old  thing 
fell  down  on  him  and  refused  to  live  any  longer.  Mr. 
Freiberger  went  to  New  York  after  that,  and  became 
librarian  of  the  Friars  Club.  He  died  in  1916. 

The  latest  new  magazine  hereaway  repeats  similar 
efforts  here  and  there  along  the  course  of  time  in  other 
big  cities.  It  is  called  "The  Waste  Basket."  It  is  a  bi- 
monthly, with  Carlos  C.  Drake  as  its  editor-in-chief.  Mr. 
Drake  is  the  son  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tracy  V.  Drake.  He 
believes  that  potential  authors  of  tender  years  are  en- 
titled to  a  medium  through  which  they  may  utter  their 
thoughts.  All  people  of  tender  years  have  thoughts, 
or  mental  disturbances  which  they  believe  to  be  thoughts. 
Some  of  them  really  have  thoughts  of  value.  Imma- 
turity does  not  argue  incapacity  in  all  cases.  The  pathetic 
case  of  Chatterton  is  in  point  of  that.  Mr.  Drake  re- 
fuses manuscripts  from  authors  under  sixteen  or  over 
twenty-one  years  of  age — or  rather,  of  youth.  It  has 
been  appearing  now  about  a  year.  The  content  has  been 


176  My  Chicago 

creditable — surprisingly  so  when  it  is   considered  that 
all  of  it  came  from  boys  and  girls  who  still  are  in  school. 


Chapter  Twenty-three 

ERHAPS  the  most  conspicuous  factor  in  the 
cultural  problems  of  Chicago  is  the  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago.  This  institution  was 
established  many  years  ago  and  flourished 
in  a  modest,  scholarly,  unpretentious  way  in 
a  building  facing  Cottage  Grove  avenue,  somewhere  near 
Thirty-fifth  street.  The  well-shaded  grounds  about  it 
were  like  a  classic  grove.  It  began  to  stir  and  grow 
when  William  Rainey  Harper  became  its  head,  under 
the  generous  patronage  of  John  D.  Rockefeller.  Dr.  Har- 
per's claim  to  eminent  scholarship  was  over-shadowed  by 
a  promotional  ability  that  would  have  found  dominating 
expression  in  any  public  enterprise  he  might  have  under- 
taken. If  he  had  gone  in  for  railroading  he  might  have 
been  a  power  in  the  railway  interests  of  North  America. 
He  had  initiative,  he  was  original,  an  organizer  second  to 
none,  an  executive  of  the  first  order.  He  saw  what  the 
University  needed:  money,  and  plenty  of  it;  young  blood 
that  would  course  free,  a  faculty  equal  as  a  working  body 
with  the  faculty  of  any  eastern  university,  but  especially 
selected  for  the  adaptability  of  its  members  to  the  pre- 
vailing thought  and  the  liberal  ways  of  the  north  central 
states.  It  was  in  this  last  that  he  succeeded  in  differ- 
entiating this  University  from  Harvard,  Yale  and  Prince- 
ton. The  students  at  those  universities  were,  almost  all 
of  them,  the  sons  of  rich  men,  supplied  with  more  money 
than  was  good  for  them.  In  the  majority  of  cases  their 
fathers  and  grandfathers,  and  maybe  farther  back  than 
that,  had  gone  to  those  same  institutions.  In  a  sense  they 


My  Chicago  177 

were  family  concerns,  refreshed  and  renewed  as  time 
passed  and  old  rich  families  faded  out,  and  new  rich 
families  came  in.  They  had  traditions  and  usages,  and 
lines  of  caste.  By  the  irony  of  fate  their  professional 
administration  had  fallen  into  dangerous  hands,  and 
sociology  of  that  lamentably  dangerous  kind  that  is  dealt 
with  by  closet  philosophers  only,  became  an  inculcation 
so  poisonous  that  years  of  contact  with  the  rude  and 
bustling  world  were  required  to  knock  it  out  of  the  heads 
of  the  students  in  order  that  common  sense  might  find 
lodging  room.  Dr.  Harper  would  have  none  of  this. 
The  University  of  Chicago  must  be  representative  of 
the  strong  and  level-headed  people  who  had  created  the 
west,  and  on  the  once  empty  prairies  had  built  a  new  and 
sturdy  structure  of  life,  splendid,  broad  and  perfectly 
sane.  Dr.  Harper's  successor,  Dr.  Judson,  has  carried 
out  these  purposes  with  fidelity  and  ability. 

Concurrently  with,  though  in  no  wise  related  to  the 
University  of  Chicago,  our  four  great  libraries  have  had 
much  to  do  with  the  spread  of  knowledge,  the  stimulation 
of  ideas,  and  that  understanding  of  the  world  and  its 
peoples  that  can  be  acquired  by  reading  and  by  no  other 
direct  means.  These  are  the  Public  Library,  the  New- 
berry,  the  Crerar  and  the  Blackstone.  Our  Public 
Library  is  one  of  the  most  comprehensive  in  the  land, 
ranking  readily  with  the  Boston  Public,  the  Astor,  and 
the  very  few  other  big  ones.  It  has  had  a  history  as 
quiet  as  its  influence  was  deep.  The  office  of  chief 
librarian  is  filled  by  appointment,  and  therefore  subject  to 
change;  but  the  actual  working  staff  is  free  from  that  rule, 
and  membership  in  it  rests  upon  merit  alone,  much  of 
this  merit  resulting  from  the  experience  of  service.  As  an 
example,  Miss  Caroline  L.  Elliott,  in  charge  of  the  refer- 
ence department,  has  been  a  member  of  the  staff  thirty 
years.  Her  knowledge  of  that  department  and  her  quick 
response  to  any  question  touching  any  of  the  recondite 


178  My  Chicago 

topics  there  included  has  saved  hours  of  time  for  so  many 
thousands  of  people  that  if  all  those  hours  could  be  to- 
talized the  sum  would  probably  show  a  thousand  years. 
A  record  like  that  means  something.  How  many  people 
are  there  who  can  be  credited  with  having  saved  in  a 
lifetime  a  thousand  years  for  others? 

The  Newberry,  the  Crerar  and  the  Blackstone  were 
given  in  trust  to  the  people  of  the  city  by  private  donors, 
whose  respective  names  they  bear.  They  have  not  the 
bulk  nor  the  circulating  feature  of  the  Public  Library, 
but  each  of  its  kind  is  a  model.  The  Newberry  Library 
is  the  largest  of  the  three,  and  probably  the  most  diversi- 
fied. Miss  Cara  Durkee  bears  the  same  relation  to  it 
that  Miss  Elliott  bears  to  the  reference  department  of 
the  Public  Library,  the  main  difference  being  that  the 
reference  department  of  the  Public  Library  is  simply  one 
of  many  departments,  while  the  Newberry  Library  is 
strictly  upon  reference  lines.  Those  who  use  it  know  how 
beautifully  the  Newberry  Library  is  housed,  and  what  a 
perfect  place  it  is  for  study. 

The  Crerar  Library  in  the  Marshall  Field  block  of 
buildings  is  not  so  large  as  the  Newberry,  but  is  admir- 
ably balanced  and  equipped,  especially  with  authorita- 
tive works  of  a  technical  and  scientific  nature. 

The  Blackstone  Library  has  a  building  of  its  own 
not  far  to  the  north  of  the  University  of  Chicago  grounds. 
It  was  assembled  upon  a  more  general  plan  than  that  of 
the  other  two,  being  especially  rich  in  standard  English 
literature  and  the  best  books  of  history  and  of  travel. 
It  is  especially  used  by  writers  in  search  of  color,  and  of 
actual  historic  dates  and  places.  Of  its  kind  it  is  about 
as  nearly  perfect  as  intelligent  care  and  ample  funds  can 
make  it. 

In  addition  to  the  libraries  the  Chicago  Historical  So- 
ciety has  actively  served  the  public.  Its  collections  are 
used  for  research  work  by  historians,  genealogists,  writers 


My  Chicago  .  179 

and  students  from  all  over  the  United  States.  It  is  stimu- 
lating patriotism  through  illustrated  lectures  which  it 
gives  annually  to  thousands  of  public  school  children, 
lending  them  a  grasp  upon  the  great  and  true  stories 
that  lie  behind  the  city  of  today. 

The  society  was  formed  in  1846.  It  occupies  a  sub- 
stantial and  commodious  brown  stone  building  at  the 
corner  of  Dearborn  and  Ontario  streets.  The  scope  of 
the  society  is  much  more  broad  than  most  people  are 
aware  of.  It  includes  records  and  exhibits  minutely  cover- 
ing the  history  of  the  whole  state,  from  the  time  of  Father  * 
LaSalle,  and  these  records  and  exhibits  are  of  the  very 
highest  value,  considered  in  the  sense  of  history,  both 
human  and  natural.  The  collections  are  admirably  ar- 
ranged in  themselves  and  in  relation  to  each  other.  I 
do  not  know  of  any  other  grouping  that  means  so  much 
culturally,  though  the  natural  history  museum  collected 
by  Matthew  Laflin  offers  it  a  very  close  second. 


Chapter  Twenty-four 


HIS  city  has  every  reason  to  be  proud  of 
itself  as  an  effective  center  of  theatrical  ac- 
tivities. New  York  was  formerly  the  great 
billboard.  For  a  long  time  a  Broadway  pro- 
duction  was  considered  necessary  to  the  suc- 
cess of  any  play;  and  many  a  good  play  was  presented 
there  for  a  run  at  a  heavy  loss,  merely  to  get  the  ad- 
vertising, the  ballyhoo,  as  it  were,  that  such  a  run  was 
supposed  to  provide.  New  York  was  and  is  the  great 
booking  place.  The  best  companies  are  organized  there. 
But  it  never  has  been  a  steady  moneymaker  for  its 
theatres.  On  the  other  hand  some  of  the  most  success- 
ful plays  of  the  last  forty  years  had  their  first  perform- 


180  My  Chicago 

ances  in  Chicago,  and  toured  the  country  prosperously 
through  several  seasons  without  showing  in  New  York 
at  all.  For  instance  Leonard  Grover's  "Our  Boarding 
House" ;  Denman  Thompson's  "Joshua  Whitcomb" ; 
Will  Eaton's  "All  the  Rage";  Augustus  Thomas's  "Ala- 
bama" and  "Blue  Jeans";  Bronson  Howard's  "The 
Banker's  Daughter  (as  "The  Iron  Will")  and  "Sara- 
toga" and  a  good  many  others  that  for  the  moment  es- 
cape me.  And  it  always  has  been  a  moneymaker.  In 
the  dullest  season  of  panic  times  the  Chicago  Theatres 
have  played  to  the  best  business  in  the  whole  of  North 
America. 

A  good  many  plays  have  been  written  by  Chicago  men, 
some  of  them  great  successes.  For  example,  the  first  full 
form  of  the  original  "Joshua  Whitcomb,"  played  for  so 
many  years  by  Denman  Thompson,  was  built  up  by  Will 
Eaton  of  The  Times.  James  B.  Runnion  of  The  Trib- 
une wrote  a  dozen  or  more,  for  the  most  part  adaptations 
of  foreign  plays.  Elwyn  A.  Barren  of  The  Inter  Ocean 
wrote  "A  Mountain  Pink"  and  several  other  plays. 
Later  came  George  Broadhurst  and  George  Ade,  who  be- 
tween them  have  written  more  first  rate  comedies  than 
all  the  other  American  dramatists  put  together.  This 
statement  is  not  a  belittlement  of  Bronson  Howard,  whose 
one  great  comedy  success  was  "The  Henrietta,"  nor  of 
any  of  the  other  and  clever  men  who  have  done  so  much 
in  burlesque  and  extravaganza,  so  called.  I  am  treating 
now  of  Chicago  and  the  things  and  the  individuals  known 
to  myself. 

Mrs.  Aldis,  though  by  no  means  a  professional 
writer,  has  done  more  good  work  along  these  general 
lines  than  any  other  Chicago  woman.  Mrs.  Peattie 
says  Mrs.  Aldis  in  her  writings  "was  more  interested  in 
tangents  than  in  straight  lines,  and  if  she  is  not 
startlingly  creative,  just  as  certainly  she  is  not  hackneyed. 
Her  free  verse  poems  were  finally  printed  in  book  form, 


My  Chicago  181 

and  many  found  them  not  only  diverting  but  instruc- 
tive in  the  way  that  sympathetic  art  must  always 
be  instructive.  Then  came  a  book  of  plays — plays  which 
Mrs.  Aldis  had  tried  out  on  her  own  little  stage  and 
which  showed  the  influence  of  the  modern  masters,  and 
were  at  once  sardonic  and  kind.  That  sounds  like  a 
paradox,  but  can  be  understood  when  it  is  explained  that 
while  Mrs.  Aldis  found  life  ironic,  she  was  not  so  herself; 
at  least  not  toward  any  human  being  or  fictional  creature 
whom  it  was  her  instinct  to  pity.  There  was  a  fine 
quality  of  breeding  and  courtesy  in  these  plays,  and 
liberality  and  humor  made  them  both  piquant  and 
winning,  even  as  the  free  verse  poems  had  been." 

I  wonder  how  many  people  in  Chicago  remember 
William  Young,  whose  comedy,  "The  Rajah,"  had  a  run 
of  over  a  year  at  the  Madison  Square  theatre  in  New 
York  upon  its  original  production,  and  afterward  was 
played  not  only  all  over  this  country  but  in  England 
during  the  three  or  four  years  next  following.  Mr. 
Young  is  still  living.  Before  "The  Rajah"  he  had  writ- 
ten a  powerful  play  founded  upon  the  Arthurian  legends, 
called  "Pendragon,"  and  subsequently  to  "The  Rajah," 
another  play  dealing  with  the  last  days  of  the  Moors  in 
Spain  and  called  "Ganelon,"  a  really  swift  and  powerful 
piece  of  work.  Both  "Pendragon"  and  "Ganelon"  were 
killed  by  Lawrence  Barrett,  and  both  for  the  same 
reason:  The  reviewers  received  them  with  too  much 
enthusiasm,  and  Mr.  Barrett's  performance  with  too 
little.  If  Mr.  Barrett's  ability  had  been  in  any  degree 
commensurate  with  his  sensibility,  he  would  have  taken 
a  different  course,  for  the  works  were  really  fine,  and 
their  continuous  performance  would  have  raised  him  to 
a  level  of  recognition  far  beyond  any  he  ever  attained. 
He  missed  the  one  chance  of  his  life  to  do  well  the  one 
big  thing  any  actor  can  do — that  is,  to  give  adequate 
interpretation  to  the  best  conception  of  a  great  author. 


1 82  My  Chicago 

I  say  great,  because  these  two  plays  were  not  only  dramas 
theatrically  effective,  but  poems  vital  in  universality  of 
thought.  Mr.  Young  was  skilled  in  the  craftsmanship 
of  drama.  His  concepts  were  admirable,  his  moulding 
true.  He  was  the  author  of  several  poems  that  upon 
their  publication  received  unstinted  praise.  One  of  these, 
"There  Came  Three  Queens  from  Heaven,"  was  given 
out  through  the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  immediately 
reproduced  in  all  the  literary  reviews  in  the  English 
language.  Mr.  Young  neglected  to  collect  and  publish 
his  works  in  book  form.  Coming  one  by  one,  they 
suffered  the  misfortune  that  usually  falls  upon  fragmen- 
tary efforts.  They  dropped  out  of  sight. 

Mr.  Young  inhabited  a  frail  body.  His  habitual 
mood  was  melancholy.  He  brooded  deeply  upon  life 
and  the  world.  Only  now  and  then  in  private  conversa- 
tion he  would  burst  out  with  a  flare  of  blazing  fun.  He 
is  passing  the  evening  of  his  days  on  the  Island  of  Jersey 
in  the  English  Channel.  It  is  a  long  time  since  he  ceased 
writing.  He  was  a  Chicago  man,  but  little  known  here 
or  anywhere  save  among  newspaper  men  and  actors. 
The  late  James  H.  McVicker  was  his  devoted  friend 
and  admirer,  Edwin  Booth  was  another,  and  so  was 
Frederick  Warde. 

The  nature  of  my  work  brought  me  in  contact  almost 
continuously  with  the  theatres  and  the  distinguished 
players  who  have  appeared  in  them.  Personally  I  esteem 
the  drama  as  one  of  the  most  potent  influences  for  the 
elevation  of  thought,  for  education  in  the  niceties  of  life, 
for  lifting  beauty  and  all  the  graces  into  a  light  where 
all  may  see.  In  addition  I  would  esteem  it  as  an  incal- 
culable blessing  if  in  even  its  most  frivolous  form  it  did 
no  more  than  brush  the  cobwebs  from  the  brow  of  care. 

We  have  been  particularly  fortunate  in  that  our 
theatres  have  been  conducted  by  men  of  probity,  excellent 
ability,  judgment,  and  public  spirit.  Those  who  remember 


My  Chicago  183 

James  H.  McVicker  may  take  him  and  his  memory 
as  exemplifying  their  character  at  its  best.  The  theatre 
that  still  bears  his  name  was  the  first  to  be  granted  equal- 
ity with  the  leading  houses  of  New  York.  It  was  an  old 
establishment  when  I  was  a  child.  Until  Mr.  McVicker's 
death,  its  reputation  and  its  standing  were  maintained  and 
its  popularity  never  faltered.  Mr.  McVicker  was  him- 
self an  actor,  and  a  remarkably  good  one,  particularly 
in  Shakespeare  plays.  When  under  the  old  order  of 
things  he  had  a  stock  company,  he  cast  the  plays  strictly 
in  accord  with  the  merit  or  qualifications  of  his  actors, 
taking  upon  himself  whatever  part  he  felt  he  could  do 
best,  without  a  thought  of  its  prominence  or  its  unim- 
portance. I  have  seen  him  play  the  first  grave  digger 
in  "Hamlet"  to  the  Hamlet  of  his  son-in-law,  Edwin 
Booth;  and  a  most  admirable  performance  it  was.  I  do 
not  believe  his  Dogberry  could  have  been  excelled — a 
minor  part,  but  played  in  a  deadly  serious  key,  the  only 
key  that  could  have  brought  out  Dogberry's  fatuous  self 
importance.  In  private  life  Mr.  McVicker  was  a  sound 
and  safe  influence,  a  perfect  model  of  good  citizenship,  a 
just  and  generous  friend.  In  the  essential  meaning  of  the 
word  though  not  in  the  conventional,  he  was  deeply  re- 
ligious; but  he  never  made  any  fuss  about  it.  Simply 
he  lived  it.  The  impression  he  left  upon  the  city  while 
it  was  yet  hebdomadal  is  with  us  yet,  and  will  remain. 
The  good  he  did  lives  after  him. 

Richard  M.  Hooley's  career  began  about  the  middle 
of  Mr.  McVicker's.  He  had  been  a  minstrel  man,  and 
had  for  a  long  time  been  at  the  head  of  the  most  popular 
negro  minstrel  company.  Before  he  came  to  Chicago 
he  had  established  in  Brooklyn  a  theatre  which  he  named 
for  himself.  The  story  of  that  theatre  would  be  of  no 
moment  in  this  place,  but  after  he  gave  it  up,  that  is, 
immediatelv  after  our  great  fire,  he  came  here  and  built 
Hooley's  Theatre,  which  is  the  Powers  Theatre  of  the 


184  My  Chicago 

present.  He  called  it  the  home  of  Parlor  Comedy.  It 
was  very  successful.  Upon  his  death  in  1893  Harry 
Powers  succeeded  to  the  management.  Powers  Theatre, 
as  it  is  now  called,  acquired  under  Uncle  Dick  Hooley 
a  public  peculiarly  its  own.  Its  business  was  practically 
assured,  for  a  large  number  of  the  best  people  in  the  town 
came  regularly  every  week,  on  designated  days  and  had 
their  seats  reserved  for  them  ahead.  It  always  has  been 
a  high  class  theatre,  without  a  single  lapse  from  the  tone 
originally  imparted  to  it  by  Uncle  Dick. 

The  Grand  Opera  House  in  Clark  street  opposite  the 
county  building  was  opened  in  September,  1880,  by  Mr. 
John  A.  Hamlin.  From  that  date  until  1907  the  theatre 
under  his  management,  assisted  by  his  sons  Harry  and 
Fred,  was  a  popular  and  fashionable  playhouse.  On  big 
opening  nights  one  was  sure  to  meet  most  of  his  friends 
among  the  representative  families  of  Chicago  and  vicin- 
ity. An  individual  feature  of  this  theatre  is  a  reception 
committee  of  one  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Zeddis,  who  has 
not  missed  a  single  performance  of  thirty-seven  years,  and 
who  always  greets  each  visitor  upon  his  arrival  as  if  he 
were  the  most  important  member  of  the  community. 

Mr.  William  J.  Davis,  known  as  Will  Davis,  has  been 
thoroughly  identified  with  the  theatrical  and  musical  de- 
velopment of  Chicago  since  1878,  when  he  was  manager 
of  Her  Majesty's  Opera  Company  for  two  seasons.  At 
one  time  he  was  manager  of  the  Grand  Opera  House, 
and  during  his  directorship  won  for  it  the  title  of  The 
Mascotte  Theatre.  His  success  as  manager  of  the 
Columbia  and  Illinois  theatres  is  well  known.  In  fact 
both  Mr.  Davis  and  his  wife,  Jessie  Bartlett  Davis,  a 
popular  and  famous  singer  during  the  eighties,  have  made 
distinct  contributions  to  Chicago's  artistic  life. 

In  1882  John  B.  Carson  and  Col.  J.  H.  Haverly,  the 
minstrel  man,  opened  Haverly's  Theatre  in  Monroe 
street  near  Dearborn.  In  1884  the  name  was  changed 


My  Chicago  185 

by  Ellen  Terry,  who  was  then  filling  an  engagement  there 
as  a  member  of  Sir  Henry  Irving's  Company.  I  sat  in 
one  of  the  proscenium  boxes  and  I  remember  how  irre- 
sistibly charming  she  was  as  she  came  modestly  and  hesi- 
tatingly to  the  footlights  and  said,  "I  name  this  beautiful 
theatre — Columbia." 

What  charming  entertainments  these  great  artists  and 
the  supporting  members  of  their  company  gave  at  that 
time,  what  an  event  it  was  in  Chicago  1  Nothing  ap- 
proaching it  in  importance  and  interest  has  occurred  dur- 
ing my  remembrance.  The  city  seemed  changed,  in  some 
way,  assumed  a  metropolitan  air.  I  remember  the  clos- 
ing performance,  the  play  was  "Much  Ado  About  Noth- 
ing." The  house  was  packed,  many  persons,  including 
myself,  sitting  on  the  steps  leading  from  the  boxes  to 
the  parquet.  Marshall  Field,  whom  I  saw  for  the  first 
time,  sitting  with  his  young  son  Marshall  Field,  Jr.,  was 
in  one  of  the  very  front  seats. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  great  deference  which  Irving 
expressed  toward  Miss  Terry  when  in  his  curtain  speech 
he  said,  "Miss  Terry  whom  you  admire,  whom  I  admire, 
whom  we  all  admire."  What  a  wonderful  performance 
it  was !  Irving's  physical  impossibility  to  properly  repre- 
sent Benedick  pictorially  was  entirely  lost  sight  of  in  the 
delicious  humor  of  his  lines.  For  instance,  in  "Lady, 
I  am  loved  of  all  women,  only  you  excepted."  Who  will 
ever  forget  the  indefinable  charm  of  Miss  Terry  when  she 
said  to  Benedick  "Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you 
come  in  to  dinner."  Those  were  golden  days  for  the 
artists  and  for  us.  Alas !  things  were  sadly  changed  when 
in  1903  came  the  Iroquois  fire. 

Irving  was  playing  an  engagement  at  the  Illinois 
Theatre  at  the  time.  At  his  invitation,  together  with 
a  friend,  I  paid  him  a  visit  at  his  apartment  in  the  Con- 
gress Hotel  a  day  or  two  after  the  fire.  He  was  in  the 
depths  of  despair.  Owing  to  the  fire,  business  was  almost 


1 86  My  Chicago 

entirely  suspended.  He  was  alone,  desolate,  forsaken, 
Miss  Terry  having  terminated  her  association  with  him 
and  joined  Beerbohm  Tree  in  a  production  of  "The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor."  Irving  had  in  his  company 
his  son,  H.  B.  Irving,  and  his  wife  who,  as  he  mournfully 
said,  "was  trying  to  play  Portia"  and  other  roles  made 
famous  by  Ellen  Terry.  Irving  survived  but  a  short  time 
after  this  engagement.  He  was  honored  by  burial  in 
Westminster  Abbey. 


Chapter  Twenty-five 

HE  Chap  Book.  Being  a  miscellany  of  cu- 
rious and  interesting  Songs,  Ballads,  Tales, 
Histories,  etc.,  adorned  with  a  variety  of 
pictures;  and  very  delightful  to  read, newly 

composed  by  many  celebrated  writers,  to 

which  was  annexed  a  large  collection  of  notices  of  Books." 
The  above  was  the  description  on  the  fly  leaf  of  a  little 
booklet  which  was  published  in  Chicago  in  1904  by  Stone 
and  Kimball.  Herbert  Stuart  Stone,  eldest  son  of  Mr. 
Melville  E.  Stone,  founder  of  the  Chicago  Daily  News, 
was  the  chief  originator  and  principal  editor  until  its 
hundredth  and  last  number  appeared  in  1908.  Melville 
E.  Stone,  Jr.,  was  business  manager.  He  died  in  1918. 
Mr.  Harrison  Garfield  Rhodes  was  associate  editor. 
Contributions  were  received  from  the  leading  literary 
writers  of  England  and  America,  which  was  a  stimulus  to 
ambitious  writers  in  Chicago.  Hamlin  Garland  was  a 
frequent  contributor.  So  was  Wallace  Rice.  Single 
articles  were  contributed  by  Edith  Wyatt,  Elia  W. 
Peattie,  Elizabeth  Wallace,  Lilian  Bell,  who  later  be- 


My  Chicago  187 

came  famous  as  the  author  of  "The  Love  Affairs  of  an 
Old  Maid,"  Anna  Morgan,  and  many  others. 

Mr.  Stone  was  in  close  touch  with  Aubrey  Beardsley, 
and  many  of  his  clever  sketches  adorned  the  pages  of 
The  Chap  Book.  Other  artists  found  their  way  to  na- 
tional reputation  and  fame,  among  them  being  Will 
Bradley  and  Frank  Hazenplug,  who  produced  many 
unique  and  clever  posters  which  were  an  addition  to  Mr. 
Stone's  enterprise.  They  were  so  artistic  and  fantastic 
that  they  became  very  popular.  It  is  interesting  to  note 
that  Cecil  Clark  Davis  contributed  some  sketches  for  the 
magazine,  one  of  Sarah  Bernhardt. 

Mr.  Stone  also  inaugurated  a  series  of  Chap  Book 
Teas,  given  in  his  publishing  office  where  the  literary 
folk  and  various  art  workers  congregated  to  look  at 
original  drawings  and  manuscripts,  thus  becoming  better 
acquainted  with  personal  endeavor  and  better  prepared 
to  work  in  harmony  for  the  artistic  development  of 
Chicago. 

The  Chap  Book  teas  were  forerunners  of  the  Attic 
Club,  and  no  doubt  suggested  the  meetings  of  The  Little 
Room. 

There  were  twenty-six  imitators  of  The  Chap  Book, 
but  it  remained  the  supreme  effort  among  the  little  maga- 
zines, and  its  advent  and  life  were  distinctly  artistic  con- 
tributions to  Chicago. 

By  something  that  looks  a  little  like  irony,  the  firm  of 
Stone  and  Kimball  is  remembered  by  reason  of  their 
having  issued  Mary  MacLane's  book  "The  Story  of 
Mary  MacLane,"  that  astonishing  revelation  of  an  ego 
made  interesting  to  itself  by  its  own  fever.  That  book 
outtopped  all  their  more  ambitious  efforts,  outlasts  them 
all,  survives  the  firm  itself,  and  has  let  loose  upon  the 
public  a  simulacrum  that  cannot  sink  or  be  sunk,  a  joke 
that  will  not  die.  The  book  sold  tremendously;  its  pro- 
ceeds saved  the  firm  from  disaster. 


My  Chicago 

Mr.  Stone's  career  ended  with  the  sinking  of  the  Lusi- 
tania  in  1915,  on  which,  unfortunately,  he  was  a  pas- 
senger. 

The  Little  Room,  which  had  its  beginning  in  1893, 
is  perhaps  the  most  unique  of  Chicago  organizations.  It 
rose  from  the  ashes  of  the  Attic  Club,  which  had  a  tenta- 
tive existence  previous  to  this,  but  for  well  grounded 
reasons  was  disbanded^ 

The  new  organization  was  suggested  by  Miss  Lucy 
Monroe  (who  later  became  Mrs.  William  J.  Calhoun) 
in  Mr.  Lorado  Taft's  studio  which  was  then  in  the 
Athenaeum  building  in  Van  Buren  street,  the  object  be- 
ing to  furnish  a  weekly  meeting  place  for  the  discussion 
of  art  and  literature  and  where  distinguished  artists 
might  meet  our  home  artists  whenever  occasion  brought 
them  to  Chicago.  It  was  named  after  a  ghost  story 
written  by  Mrs.  Madeline  Yale  Wynne  called  "The  Little 
Room"  which  had  a  fashion  of  disappearing  and  reap- 
pearing at  intervals.  So  with  the  club.  It  appeared  on 
Fridays  from  four  to  six,  at  first  in  Miss  Bessie  Potter's 
(now  Mrs.  Vonnah)  studio,  then  disappeared  until  the 
following  Friday. 

The  original  members  were  Franklin  H.  Head,  Lorado 
Taft,  Henry  B.  Fuller,  Hermon  Macneil,  Allen  B.  Pond, 
Irving  K.  Pond,  Roswell  Field,  John  Vance  Cheney, 
Hamlin  Garland,  Frederick  W.  Gookin,  Herbert  Stuart 
Stone,  Melville  Stone,  Jr.,  Harrison  Rhodes,  Lucy  Mon- 
roe, Harriet  Monroe,  Madaline  Yale  Wynne,  Lilian  Bell, 
Jane  Addams,  Bessie  Potter,  Anna  Morgan  and  Mrs. 
Lindon  W.  Bates.  We  continued  to  meet  in  Miss  Potter's 
studio  until  the  Studebaker  building  on  Michigan  avenue 
was  converted  into  the  Fine  Arts  Building.  Then  it  was 
removed  to  Mr.  Ralph  Clarkson's  studio  on  the  tenth  floor 
where  it  has  remained  up  to  the  present  time,  with  the 
exception  of  the  year  1900  when  it  met  in  my  studio  on 
the  eighth  floor  of  the  Fine  Arts  building. 


My  Chicago  189 

In  the  intervening  years  the  names  of  nearly  all  our 
best  writers  and  artists  have  been  added  to  the  original 
list. 

Carrying  out  its  original  idea  the  organization  has 
entertained  distinguished  artists  of  this  country  who 
have  visited  Chicago  from  time  to  time,  as  well  as 
those  from  other  lands,  the  first  guest  entertained  being 
Richard  Le  Gallienne  in  May,  1898. 

Mrs.  Franklin  MacVeagh,  long  one  of  the  best  known 
and  most  influential  members  of  Chicago  society,  told 
this  amusing  incident:  While  paying  a  visit  to  London 
some  eight  or  nine  years  ago,  upon  several  occasions 
when  noted  artists  were  presented,  they  immediately 
asked  if  she  were  a  member  of  "The  Little  Room"? 
According  to  her  account  when  she  replied  in  the  nega- 
tive, and  said  she  had  never  even  heard  of  it,  she  fell 
perceptibly  in  their  estimation,  as  they  seemed  to  feel  that 
she  could  not  have  much  standing  in  Chicago  if  she  were 
not  a  member  of  The  Little  Room.  Upon  her  arrival 
in  New  York  her  London  experience  was  repeated.  Upon 
her  return  to  Chicago,  Mrs.  Wynne,  who  was  one  of 
the  originators  of  the  club,  called  upon  her,  and  Mrs. 
MacVeagh  appealed  to  her  to  know  if  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  The  Little  Room  in  Chicago — and  of  course 
learned  its  history.  Soon  after  she  came  to  see  us  one 
Friday  afternoon,  bringing  with  her  Mrs.  Jack  Gardner 
of  Boston,  who  was  her  guest  at  the  time.  I  remember 
that  I  was  pouring  tea  when  she  came  in.  There  were 
only  five  or  six  other  members  present  and  our  distin- 
guished visitors  did  not  have  a  fair  chance  to  judge  of 
its  merits. 

During  the  first  years  in  the  Fine  Arts  building  we  used 
to  give  unique  parties  every  winter.  I  remember  one,  a 
buffet  supper,  which  began  in  my  Studio  at  7  o'clock 
and  ended  with  a  dance  in  my  Gymnasium  at  3  o'clock 
A.  M.,  with  Fanny  Bloomfield  Zeisler  playing  ragtime 


190  My  Chicago 

music  on  a  bad  piano,  while  the  rest  of  us  danced.  We 
danced  until  we  were  dizzy,  to  keep  her  at  the  piano  as 
long  as  possible.  I  remember  also  that  Sam  Clover  drove 
a  "team"  to  Evanston  after  the  party,  arriving  with  his 
guests  at  daybreak. 

We  had  several  notable  burlesque  performances  on 
my  stage,  largely  under  the  management  of  Melville  E. 
Stone,  Jr.  One  was  given  on  Saturday  evening,  May 
23>  I9°3-  The  program  announced  that  "the  unparal- 
leled Stock  Company  of  The  Little  Room  will  appear 
for  the  first,  last  and  only  time  in  an  unparalleled  etcetera 
performance  of  'Little  Room,'  a  moral  play  done  in  moral 
English  from  the  mediaeval,  that  is,  out  of  respect  to 
twentieth  century  conventions."  The  actors  were  Frank- 
lin H.  Head,  Chatfield-Taylor,  Ralph  Clarkson,  Melville 
E.  Stone,  Jr.,  Wallace  Rice,  Hugh  Garden,  William 
Morton  Payne,  Karleton  Hackett,  Lucy  Monroe  and 
Marjorie  Benton  Cook.  A  note  on  the  program  stated 
that  after  the  performance  an  attempt  would  be  made  to 
restore  the  appetites  of  such  of  the  audience  as  had  re- 
mained in  Mr.  Clarkson's  studio  to  which  was  added 
the  admonition  "Eat  and  drink,  for  tomorrow  we  may 
not  feel  like  it." 

The  most  notable  performance  was  given  on  January 
30,  1904,  being  a  dramatization  of  "The  Bird  Center" 
cartoons  made  famous  by  John  T.  McCutcheon,  and  run- 
ning in  the  Tribune.  I  remember  that  we  ransacked  the 
town  to  find  stage  properties  which  called  for  a  "what- 
not," the  mottoes  "God  Bless  Our  Home,"  "Live  and 
Let  Live,"  pink  lined  shells,  satin  banners  embroidered 
with  sunflowers,  photograph  albums  and  the  like.  I  re- 
member I  made  a  white  tarlatan  dress  for  the  perform- 
ance which  I  wore  trimmed  with  a  blue  sash  and  pink 
rosebuds,  and  that  I  played  "The  Maiden's  Prayer" 
while  Allen  Spencer  turned  the  leaves  of  the  music  and 
Karleton  Hackett  wielded  the  baton.  Fanny  Bloomfield 


My  Chicago  191 

Zeisler  nearly  went  into  convulsions,  as  did  the  rest  of 
the  audience. 

Program. 
BIRD  CENTER  OPERA  HOUSE. 

Miss  Anna  Morgan  of  Chicago,  Illinois,  Lessee. 
Right  Royally  will  that  Colossal  Aggregation  of  Little 
Roomers  Present  for  the  First  Time  on  Any 
Stage  the  Stupendous  Tragedy  Entitled 

CAP.  FRY'S  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

January  30,  1904 

Words  by  George  Ade ;  Acting  by  the  Following  Galaxy 
of  Histrionic  Stars,  First  and  Last  Appearance. 

THE  CAST. 

Capt.  Roscoe  Fry,  a  Wild  Soldier  and  Tame  Hus- 
band    George  Barr  McCutcheon 

7.  Milton  Brown,  a  (Tin)  Type  of  Bird  Center  Aris- 
tocracy  Howard  Van  Doren  Shaw 

Rev.  Walpole,  with  a  Congregation  of  His  Own.  .  . 

Melville   E.   Stone,   Jr. 

Smiley  Greene,  the  Popular  Undertaker 

Roswell  Field 

/.  Oscar  Fisher,  "Ye  Editor" Henry  M.  Hyde 

The  Mysterious  Stranger,   Right  Out  of  a   Dime 

Novel Ralph  Clarkson 

Mine  Host  Peters,  with  a  Volubility 

Franklin  H.  Head 

Gus  Figgey,  Who  Drums  and  "Gets  Busy" 

Hugh  Garden 

Winthrop  K.  Biddle,  of  Philadelphia  (Pennsylvania) 

Arthur  Heun 


192  My  Chicago 

Chris  C.  Newbower,  Never  Invited  Anywhere.  .  . 

Irving  K.  Pond 

Elmer  Pratt,  the  Village  Brummell.  .  .  .1.  K.  Friedman 
Riley  Peters,  with  a  Hundred  Sweethearts 

John  T.  McCutcheon 

Earnest  Pratt,  of  the  Louisianheuser  Busch  City. . 

. . Allen  B.  Pond 

Wilber  Fry,  a  Musician  of  Note Allen  Spencer 

Orville  Peters,  Second  Musician  of  Note 

Karleton  Hackett 

Judge  Warden  (presumably  of  the  Fat  Stock  Show) 

Will  Payne 

Dr.  Niebling,  Who  Stays  Out  Late  at  Night 

John  Vance  Cheney 

Wes  Kidwell,  "Just  Drops  In" 

William  Morton  Payne 

D.  I.  Black F.  W.  Gookin 

Mrs.  Riley  Withersby,  the  Social  Lioness 

Mrs.  Coonley-Ward 

Mrs.  Roscoe  Fry,  Fond  of  Commanding 

Miss  Isabel  McDougall 

Lucile  Ramona  Fry,  One  of  the  "Buds" 

Mrs.  Elia  W.  Peattie 

Mrs.  Rev.  Wai-pole,  Part  of  the  Congregation.  .  .  . 

Miss  Edith  Wyatt 

Mrs.  Smiley  Greene,  in  the  Wake.  .  .Miss  Lucy  Monroe 
Miss  Myrtle  Peters,  Who  Dotes  on  Society 

Miss  Ottilie  Liljencranz 

Mrs.  Doc.  Niebling Mrs.  Clara  Louise  Burnham 

Miss  Flossie  Niebling Mrs.  Howard  Coonley 

Miss  Mae  Niebling Miss  Dodson 

Mrs.  D.  I.  Black,  a  Lawyer's  Wife 

Mrs.  Roswell  Field 

Miss  Kate  Warden,  Who  Loves  Philadelphia .... 

Miss  Harriet  Monroe 

Miss  Norma  Cousins,  of  Lafayette.  .  Miss  Anna  Morgan 


My  Chicago  193 

Mrs.  Mort  Peters Mrs.  Charles  F.  Browne 

Miss  Minerva  Maltby,  a  New  Flame 

Miss  Clara  E.  Laughlin 

Sadie  Newbower,  Never  in  Luck  or  Bed.  . 

Mrs.  Leland  Laflin  Summers 

Rollicking  Walpoles,  Villagers,  Visitors  in  Town, 

Policemen  who  are  never  around,  etc 

By   the  Company 

SCENE:  PARLOR  IN  CAP.  FRY'S  HOME- 
TIME:  FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME. 

Specialties  of  a  highly  moral  character  will  be  intro- 
duced during  the  performance. 

Tempting  Viands  will  be  dispensed  and  a  magnificent 
collation  served  in  the  Tintype  Studio  of  Ralph  Clark- 
son  on  the  tenth  floor.  Ask  the  man  and  take  the  ele- 
vator. Don't  crowd. 

Table  Decoration  from  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal. 

Choice  morsels  of  poetry  by  poets  of  the  Victorian 
Era  served  with  each  plate. 

Secure  telescopes  of  the  ushers  to  find  the  stars. 

Please  report  to  the  management  any  neglect  or  in- 
civility on  the  part  of  the  usher.  Report  loss  of  jewelry 
to  the  person  who  sits  next  to  you. 

The  audience  is  requested  to  remain  seated  to  the  end. 
This  is  not  Parsifal. 


194  My  Chicago 


Chapter  Twenty-six 

HE  record  of  my  experience  from  1908  to 
1918  would  be  incomplete  without  a  refer- 
ence to  Eastgate,  my  home  in  Ravinia,  where 
I  spent  eight  happy  years  and  where  the 
members  of  my  family  and  many  friends  so- 
journed with  me  from  time  to  time.  In  my  guest  book 
is  recorded  hundreds  of  names  of  men  and  women  illus- 
trious in  the  various  walks  of  life. 

In  the  summer  of  1908  I  was  eagerly  seeking  a  home 
of  my  very  own  in  the  country,  and  accidentally  secured 
this  unusually  charming  spot  from  Ralph  Fletcher  Sey- 
mour, it  being  a  part  of  his  estate. 

I  fairly  revelled  in  the  joy  of  my  home ;  it  was,  as  every 
home  should  be,  the  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  me.  The 
cottage  stood  near  one  of  the  deep  ravines  which  charac- 
terize Ravinia.  The  entrance  was  marked  by  a  gate  on 
which  one  charming  day  in  October,  John  Kales  had 
done  the  lettering,  "Eastgate."  On  one  of  the  posts 
supporting  the  gate  was  a  quaint  hand-wrought  iron  bell 
which  had  been  presented  to  me  by  a  friend  who  got  it  in 
Nurenberg. 

Some  of  my  friends  gave  me  a  house  warming.  I  had 
desired  to  have  a  motto  lettered  on  the  living  room 
mantelpiece.  Ralph  Seymour  came  over  about  nine 
o'clock  the  evening  before  the  party,  exclaiming  as 
he  entered,  "No  motto,  no  party,  I  suppose."  I  assured 
him  he  was  quite  right  and  I  proceeded  to  hold  a  candle 
in  a  glass  bottle  while  he  lettered  on  the  front  of  the 
mantel, 

"This  house  would  doubtless  perfect  be, 
Had  I  first  consulted  thee." 


My  Chicago  195 

Two  years  later  Alice  Gerstenberg  came  to  Eastgate, 
and  reading  the  motto  promptly  wrote  in  my  guest  book, 
"This  home  could  not  more  perfect  be  had  I  first  con- 
sulted thee." 

At  the  house  warming,  in  addition  to  many  humorous 
stunts,  Marjorie  Cooke  read  this  original  dedicatory 
poem: 

TO  THE  MISTRESS  OF  EASTGATE 

Dear  friends  who  gather  here  tonight 

To  feast  and  celebrate 
This  laying  of  the  corner  stone 

With  proper  pomp  and  state, 
I  rather  think  we're  all  agreed 

This  fact's  as  true  as  fate 
That  few  are  born  to  grace  a  home 

As  Anna  docs  Eastgate. 

That  heart  of  hers  is  big  enough 

To  fill  her  native  state, 
And  hospitality  to   her 

Is  nowise  out  of  date. 
Her  latch  string's  out,  and  so's  her  hand, 

So  friends  don't  hesitate, 
But  stretch  out  sort  o'  comf'table, 

It's  home  out  at  Eastgate. 

So  here's  our  love  and  this  our  hope 

From  this  auspicious  date 
May  peace  and  calm  and  happiness, 

A  rare  triumvirate, 
Enter  this  home  and  dwell  therein 

In  majesty  and  state. 
May  all  your  days  be  full  of  joy 

Dear  Anna  at  Eastgate. 


196  My  Chicago 

Among  the  memorable  occasions  at  Eastgate  was  a 
Sunday  afternoon  party  which  I  gave  for  the  W.  J. 
Calhouns,  when  Mr.  Calhoun  was  Minister  to  China  in 
1911.  It  is  safe  to  say  it  was  the  most  memorable  occa- 
sion in  the  annals  of  Ravinia.  Over  one  hundred  guests 
sat  in  the  woods  behind  the  cottage  and  listened  to  Mr. 
Calhoun  as  he  discoursed  in  eloquent  language,  of  which 
he  was  master,  of  China,  its  people,  customs,  and  of  his 
own  interesting  experience  there. 

When  the  talk  was  over  Mrs.  Calhoun,  seated  in  a 
Sedan  chair  which  had  been  presented  to  me  some  time 
before,  was  borne  to  her  carriage,  most  of  the  men 
present  being  required  to  perform  the  work  which  two 
coolies  would  have  easily  done. 

The  years  were  full  of  joy  until  the  beloved  sister  who 
had  shared  those  joys  for  several  years  was  taken  from 
me.  Then,  being  unable  to  bear  the  loneliness,  Dutchie 
(her  pet  dog)  and  I  moved  into  an  apartment  in  town, 
where  we  try  to  forget  "the  things  that  were"  and  live 
in  the  things  that  are. 


Chapter  Twenty-seven 


HIS  book  concerns  itself  with  the  develop- 
ment of  the  finer  things  of  life  during  that 
term  of  years  in  which  Chicago  definitely 
changed  from  a  condition  of  an  overgrown 
small  town  and  emerged  permanently  upon 
the  cosmopolitan  plane.  I  am  not  essaying  a  history 
of  the  years  preceding  those  of  my  own  activity,  or  any 
projection  of  my  own  opinion  as  to  the  future  state  at 
which  the  arts  and  the  valuable  niceties  of  life  may  ar- 
rive. I  consider  that  the  period  of  evolution  within  the 
scope  of  my  personal  activities  was  one  of  the  most 


My  Chicago  197 

important  of  the  many  phases  through  which  our  city 
has  passed;  and  that  the  future,  by  reason  of  the  work 
that  has  been  done,  and  the  courses  that  have  been  shaped, 
is  assured  in  the  best  sense,  and  I  hold  that  while  Chi- 
cago is  intrinsically  and  intensely  commercial  the  evolu- 
tion of  the  commercial  interests  would  be  incomplete  if 
it  were  not  paralleled  by  an  evolution  in  learning  and  in 
all  the  arts,  in  literature  and  in  matters  spiritual, — using 
that  word  in  its  finer  meaning,  not  in  its  dogmatic.  With- 
out that  parallel  in  evolution  it  could  not  be  what  it  has 
become,  within  my  own  lifetime.  My  work  is  not  yet 
finished  but  if  it  were  I  could  find  contentment  in  the 
knowledge  that  "all  of  it  I  saw  and  part  of  it  I  was." 

Dropped  like  a  pendant  from  the  splendid  chain  of 
waters  that  stretches  from  the  far  Atlantic  seaboard  to 
the  heart  of  the  continent  we  see  Lake  Michigan.  At 
the  lower  end  of  this  mighty  pendant  is  one  of  the  most 
important  toll  gates  In  all  this  world.  The  chain  con- 
stitutes a  barrier  of  water,  an  impassable  trapezoid  more 
than  a  thousand  miles  in  length.  To  the  west  of  it 
stretches  a  rich  and  splendid  empire,  fringed  at  last  by 
the  Pacific  from  whose  shores  stretch  ocean  lanes  of  in- 
finite trade  possibilities  in  Asia  and  the  continents  and 
islands  of  the  south.  All  that  goes  into  that  empire  or 
floats  away  from  its  pacific  shores  must  either  originate 
in  or  pass  through  this  place  of  toll;  all  that  comes  out 
of  it,  passing  to  the  east,  must  pay  toll  here  as  well.  The 
great  natural  resources  of  interior  North  America  are 
so  distributed  that  the  raw  materials  of  manufacture  can 
be  brought  together  here  by  the  shortest  hauls  and  at 
the  lowest  cost.  This  means  colossal  industries.  All  the 
conditions  taken  together  constitute  an  organization,  an 
assemblage  of  parts  which  act  upon  the  whole,  the  whole 
in  turn  reacting  upon  all  the  parts. 

It  is  a  magnificent  contemplation,  a  master  stroke  of 
civilization  passing  far  beyond  anything  of  which  history 


198  My  Chicago 

can  tell  us.  Before  Columbus  sailed  from  Palos  it  was 
written  in  the  Sybiline  books  that  this  thing  should  be. 
Here  must  stand  the  most  mighty  capital  city.  We  of 
our  generation  have  witnessed  and  lived  in  the  real  be- 
ginning that  shall  lead  to  that  end.  It  is  impossible  that 
such  a  plexus  should  form  without  its  complement  of 
flowering  in  the  more  gracious  and  beautiful  things. 

To  the  cultivation  of  those  things  an  earnest  body  of 
men  and  women  have  through  all  these  changes  devoted 
their  best  energies.  It  is  not  anomalous  that  their  work 
should  have  brought  forth  much  of  the  world's  best  in 
the  domain  of  intellect  and  of  art.  Singers,  actors,  great 
musicians,  great  writers,  great  painters,  great  architects 
have  been  given  to  the  world  out  of  this  garden  of 
intense  commercialism.  The  genius  of  Chicago  is  all- 
inclusive.  I  could  not  put  in  writing  the  truth  in  that 
behalf  without  mentioning  and  describing  personalities 
known  in  all  countries,  and  to  people  of  all  tongues. 

There  is  only  one  element  essential  to  a  permanent 
social  order  that  is  not  present  in  this  great  town  of  ours, 
and  that  is  the  possibility  of  placing  and  holding  unchange- 
able the  stamp  of  character  and  quality.  The  best,  and 
most  exclusive  neighborhood  of  any  one  span  of  ten  years 
is  almost  certain  to  become  the  cheap  and  shabby  neigh- 
borhood of  the  ten  next  following;  the  cheap  and  shabby 
will  probably  give  way  to  the  disreputable  in  the  third 
ten  years;  and  in  the  fourth  the  disreputable  may  be  re- 
placed by  factories  and  warehouses.  Business  has  no 
respect  for  anything  but  its  own  convenience  and  accessi- 
bility. No  one  who  knows  Chicago  will  ask  to  have  this 
statement  proven.  It  is  not  necessary  to  prove  the  ob- 
vious. Within  the  last  fifteen  years  this  instability  of 
social  localism  has  wrought  more  changes  than  had  come 
within  all  the  years  before.  Other  and  more  sweeping 
changes  are  rolling  toward  us  out  of  the  future  fast 
enough  to  be  within  vision  and  growing  as  we  look. 


My  Chicago  199 

Chicago  is  one  of  the  great  maritime  ports,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  principal  ganglion  of  land  transporta- 
tion lines,  yet  it  has  no  harbor,  nor  any  center,  nor  any 
system  of  organized  terminal  facilities.  The  river  can- 
not be  deepened  to  accommodate  vessels  of  the  size  and 
draught  now  swarming  the  great  lakes.  It  has  no  dock- 
age nor  anything  like  sufficient  wharfage.  A  new  and 
great  harbor  must  be  constructed  on  the  lake  front.  The 
facilities  of  the  Calumet  river  and  lake  must  be  employed. 
A  great  wedge-shaped  piece  of  land  bounded  on  the  east 
by  the  lake  front,  the  north  by  the  main  Chicago  river, 
the  west  by  the  south  branch,  and  the  south  by  Fifty- 
ninth  street  (at  least)  will  cease  to  be  what  it  is  now  and 
will  be  covered  by  railway  terminals  and  transfer  tracks, 
great  freight  stations,  great  warehouses  and  a  congeries 
of  such  facilities  as  lie  back  of  the  piers  and  wharves 
of  great  harbors  elsewhere. 

The  beautiful  residential  neighborhoods  which  once 
were,  and  in  part  still  are,  the  best  in  the  city,  will  be 
obliterated  and  their  inhabitants  dispersed  to  the  north 
and  west.  Transit  facilities  already  here  are  capable  of 
moving  the  people  from  their  residential  to  their  occupa- 
tional homes.  They  are  well  laid  out  in  a  manner  to 
make  extensions  easy;  and  by  that  time  the  motor  car 
will  have  become  so  common  that  a  daily  double  trip  of 
fifty  miles  each  way  will  mean  no  more  than  a  trip  of 
five  miles  does  now.  Travel  through  the  air,  already 
instituted  by  private  individuals,  will  become  as  much  a 
matter  of  course  as  travel  by  trolley  car  is  now. 

^What  will  be  the  result?  Friendships  and  associations 
will  be  reduced  to  matters  of  miles,  maybe  of  streets. 
It  is  possible  that  some  great  social  center  may  arise, 
but  nobody  now  can  guess  where.  It  is  much  more  prob- 
able that  dozens  of  small  social  centers  will  occur,  widely 
separated,  unrelated  to  and  knowing  nothing  of  each 
other.  Where  then  will  be  the  art  center, — the  succes- 


2OO  My  Chicago 

sion  to  that  short  section  of  Michigan  avenue  of  which 
the  Fine  Arts  building  and  the  Art  Institute  are  chief 
features?  That  there  will  be  an  art  center  admits  of  no 
more  question  than  that  there  will  be  other  centers. 
That  is  about  all  that  can  be  said  about  it  now. 

When  L'Enfant  planned  the  city  of  Washington  he 
dealt  with  a  locality  and  a  topography  that  involved  no 
problems  of  the  future  which  would  not  find  place  within 
the  lines  that  he  laid  down,  or  with  any  extension  of  them. 
When  Daniel  H.  Burnham  had  his  vision  of  a  beautiful 
Chicago  he  planned  better  than  he  knew,  for  in  his  time 
the  gales  of  change  now  sweeping  around  the  world  were 
whispers  merely;  yet,  genius  that  he  was,  he  foresaw  an 
ultimate  centralization,  a  sense  of  radiation  on  the  west 
side.  It  is  too  early  as  yet  to  guess  what  havoc  may  be 
wrought  upon  his  general  plan  in  its  details,  but  every- 
thing now  is  symptomatic  of  a  reduction  of  his  simpler 
thought  to  actuality. 

These  things  are  pertinent  to  my  theme  and  to  the 
welfare  of  those  fine  and  high  departments  of  life  and 
living  to  which  I  as  one  among  many  have  given  the 
best  I  had.  The  cultivation  of  idealism,  of  culture  in  the 
arts,  will  go  on  and  will  be  more  favored  and  encouraged 
than  heretofore  they  have  been,  but  they  will  be  without 
one  principal  encouragement,  one  element  of  strength  to 
which  they  have  been  so  deeply  indebted,  so  splendidly 
helped,  the  unfailing  support,  the  intelligent  patronage 
of  well  defined,  well  centered  society.  What  will  take 
the  place  of  that  energizing  friendship  I  do  not  know. 
I  discourse  now  of  the  things  that  were  and  that  led  up 
to  the  things  that  are. 

Let  me  repeat:  This  story  of  mine  deals  with  a  period 
in  the  life  of  this  city  corresponding  to  the  dangerous 
period  in  the  life  of  a  boy,  when  he  leaves  off  being  a 
boy,  becomes  a  young  man  and  begins  to  acquire  the  fibre, 
the  vigor  and  the  permanent  form  of  actual  manhood. 


My  Chicago  201 

The  art  history  of  Chicago,  concurrent  with  the  indus- 
trial and  commercial  history,  has  passed  through  exactly 
that  same  period.  We  are  at  the  edge  of  a  new  period, 
and  looking  over  the  edge  as  far  as  we  can  see  into  the 
new  things  it  will  bring.  And  we  look  with  eyes  of  hope, 
of  expectation,  with  eyes  that  dim  wistfully  while  we 
think  upon  the  busy,  the  warm  and  soulful  past  through 
which  we  have  worked  up  toward  this  our  Pisgah — the 
threshold  of  the  new. 

"THE  FUTURE  I  MAY  FACE  NOW  I 
HAVE  PROVED  THE  PAST." 


